THE  FRENCH  CLASSICAL  ROMANCES 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 


The 
French  Classical  Romances 

Complete  in  Twenty  Crown  Octavo  Volumes 
Editor-in-Chief 

EDMUND    GOSSE,    LL.D. 

With  Critical  Introductions  and  Interpretative  Essays  by 

HENRY    JAMES  PROF.    RICHARD     3URTON  HENRY     HARLAND 

ANDREW     LANG  PROF.    F.    C.    DE     bTMlCHRAST 

THE     EARL     OF     CREWE  HIS     EXCELLENCY     M.    CAMBON 

I'ROF.    WM.    P.    TRENT  ARTHUR     SYMONS  MAURICE     HEWLETT 

DR.    JAMES     FITZMAURICE-KELLY  RICHARD     MANSFIELD 

BOOTH     TARKINGTON  DR.    RICHARD     GARNETT          • 

PROF.    WILLIAM     M.    SLOANE  JOHN    OLIVER     HOBBES 


OCTAVE    FEUILLET 


The 

Romance  of  a 
Poor  Young  Man 


TRANSLATED    FROM     THE      FRENCH 
BY    C.    G.    COMPTON 

WITH     A     CRITICAL     INTRODUCTION 
BY     HENRY     HARLAND 

A      FRONTISPIECE      AND       NUMEROUS 

OTHKR         PORTRAITS          WITH 

DESCRIPTIVE     NOTES    BY 

OCTAVE      UZANNE 


P.  F.  COLLIER    e-    SON- 
NEW    YORK 


<;<>*•  YRfOHT,      1901 
BY     ».     M-PI.KTON     fc    COM 


College 
Library 


To  be  serious  seriously  is  the  way  of  medioc- 
rity. To  be  serious  gaily  is  not  such  an  easy  mat- 
ter. To  look  on  at  the  pantomime  of  things,  and 
to  see,  neatly  separated,  tragedy  here,  comedy  op- 
posite— to  miss  the  perpetual  dissolution  and  reso- 
lution of  the  one  into  and  out  of  the  other — is 
inevitable  when  eyes  are  purblind.  Diis  aliter 
visum.  Olympus  laughs  because  it  perceives  so 
many  capital  reasons  for  pulling  a  long  face  ;  and 
half  the  time  pulls  a  long  face  simply  to  keep 
from  laughing.  I  imagine  it  is  in  some  measure 
the  Olympian  manner  of  seeing  which  explains 
the  gay  seriousness  of  the  work  of  Octave  Feuillet. 

Octave  Feuillet  possesses  to  an  altogether  re- 
markable degree  the  art  of  being  serious  not  only 
gaily,  but  charmingly.  This,  to  begin  with,  places 
him  and  his  stories  in  a  particular  atmosphere  ;  and, 
if  we  consider  it,  I  think  we  shall  recognise  that 
atmosphere  as  something  very  like  the  old  familiar 
atmosphere  of  the  fairy-tale.  At  any  rate,  there 

V  i— Vol.  9 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

is  a  delicate,  a  fanciful  symbolism  in  Feuillet's 
work,  which  breathes  a  fragrance  unmistakably 
reminiscent  of  the  enchanted  forest.  For  an  in- 
stance, one  may  recall  the  chapter  in  Un  Mariage 
dans  le  Monde  which  relates  the  escapade  of  Lionel 
and  his  betrothed  on  the  day  before  their  wedding. 
A  conventional  mother,  busy  with  preparations  for 
the  ceremony,  intrusts  her  daughter  to  the  chap- 
eronage  of  an  old  aunt,  who  is,  we  might  suppose, 
exactly  the  person  for  the  office.  But  old  aunts 
are  sometimes  wonderfully  made  ;  sometimes  they 
keep  the  most  unlooked-for  surprises  up  those 
capacious  old-fashioned  sleeves  of  theirs.  This  one 
was  a  fairy  godmother  in  disguise,  and,  I  suspect, 
a  pupil  of  the  grimly-benevolent  Blackstick.  With 
good-humoured  cynicism,  she  remarks  that  the  hap- 
piest period  of  even  the  happiest  married  life  is  the 
day  before  it  begins,  and  she  advises  her  young 
charges  to  make  the  most  of  it — chases  them, 
indeed,  from  her  presence.  "  Be  off  with  you,  my 
children  !  Come,  be  off  with  you  at  once  !"  They 
escape  to  the  park,  where  they  romp  like  a  pair  of 
truant  school-children.  That  is  all ;  but  in  Feuil- 
let's hands  it  becomes  a  fairy  idyl.  It  serves,  be- 
sides, the  symbolic  purpose  of  striking  at  the  out- 
set the  note  of  joyousness  which  he  means  to  re- 
peat at  the  end,  though  the  book  is  one  that 

vi 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

threatens,  almost  to  the  last  page,  to  end  on  a 
note  of  despair.  For  Un  Mariage  dans  le  Monde, 
if  far  from  being  the  most  successful  of  Feuillet's 
novels,  exhibits,  none  the  less,  some  of  his  cleverest 
craftsmanship.  He  hoodwinks  us  into  the  fear 
that  he  meditates  disaster,  only  pleasantly,  genial- 
ly, at  the  right  moment,  to  disappoint  us  with  the 
denouement  we  could  have  wished. 

Feuillet's  geniality,  for  that  matter,  runs  through 
all  his  books,  and  is  one  of  the  vital  principles  of 
his  talent.  It  is  never  the  flaccid  geniality,  the 
amiability,  of  the  undiscerning  person  ;  it  is,  rather, 
the  wise  and  alert  geniality  of  the  benign  magician, 
who  is  sometimes  constrained  to  weave  black 
spells,  because  that  is  a  part  of  the  game,  and  in 
the  day's  work,  as  it  were,  but  who  puts  his  heart 
only  into  the  weaving  of  spells  that  are  rose-col- 
oured. This  is  perhaps  why  Feuillet's  nice  people 
nearly  always  take  flesh  and  live  and  breathe,  his 
horrid  people  hardly  ever — another  resemblance, 
by-the-bye,  between  him  and  the  writer  of  fairy- 
tales. The  nice  women,  with  their  high-bred  lovers, 
who  step  so  daintily  through  his  pages,  to  the  flut- 
ter of  perfumed  fans  and  the  rustle  of  fine  silks, 
are  as  convincing  as  the  palpitantly  convincing 
princesses  of  Hans  Andersen  and  Grimm  ;  but 
Feuillet's  villains  and  adventuresses,  like  the  ogres 

vii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

and  the  witches  we  never  very  heartily  believe  in, 
are,  for  the  most  part,  the  merest  stereotypes  of 
vice  and  wickedness,  always  artificial,  too  often  a 
trifle  absurd. 

In  Monsieur  de  Cantors,  for  example,  we  have  an 
elaborate  study  of  a  man  who  has  determined  to  live 
by  the  succinct  principle,  "  Evil,  be  thou  my  good  " 
— a  succinct  enough  principle,  in  all  conscience, 
though  Feuillet  requires  a  lengthy  chapter  and  a 
suicide  to  enunciate  it.  The  idea,  if  not  original, 
might,  in  some  hands,  lend  itself  to  interesting 
development ;  but  not  so  in  Feuillet's.  From  the 
threshold  we  feel  that  he  is  handicapped  by  his 
theme.  It  hangs  round  his  neck  like  the  mill-stone 
of  the  adage ;  it  checks  his  artistic  impulses,  ob- 
scures his  artistic  instincts.  The  quips  and  cranks, 
the  wreathed  smiles,  of  Feuillet  the  humourist, 
were  out  of  place  in  a  stupendous  epopee  of  this 
sort  ;  so,  for  the  sake  of  a  psychological  abstrac- 
tion, which  hasn't  even  the  poor  merit  of  novelty, 
we  must  look  on  ruefully,  while  our  merryman, 
divested  of  cap  and  bells,  proses  to  the  end  of  his 
four  sad  hundred  pages.  There  are  novelists  who 
must  work  with  an  abstraction,  who  can  see  their 
characters  and  their  incidents  only  as  they  illustrate 
an  abstraction  ;  and  these  also  achieve  their  effects 
and  earn  their  rewards.  But  Feuillet  belongs  in  a 

viii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

different  galley.  A  handful  of  human  nature,  a 
pleasing  countryside,  and  Paris  in  the  distance — 
these  are  his  materials.  The  philosophy  and  the  plot 
may  come  as  they  will,  and  it  really  doesn't  much 
matter  if  they  never  come  at  all.  To  give  Feuil- 
let  a  subject  is  to  attach  a  chain  and  ball  to  his 
pen.  He  is  never  so  debonair,  so  sympathetic,  so 
satisfying  a  writer,  as  when  he  has  something  just 
short  of  nothing  to  write  about. 

In  Monsieur  de  Cantors  he  has  a  tre-mendous 
deal  to  write  about ;  his  subject  weighs  his  pen  to 
the  earth.  The  result  is  a  book  that's  a  monstros- 
ity, and  a  protagonist  who's  a  monster.  Louis  de 
Camors  is  as  truly  a  monster  as  any  green  dragon 
that  ever  spat  fire  or  stole  king's  daughters  (though 
by  no  means  so  exciting  a  monster),  and  he  hasn't 
even  the  virtue  of  being  a  monster  that  hangs  to- 
gether. For,  while  we  are  asked  to  think  of  him 
as  destitute  of  natural  affections,  he  is  at  the  same 
time  shown  to  us  as  the  fond  idolater  of  his  wife, 
his  wife's  mother,  and  his  son.  On  his  son's  ac- 
count, indeed,  he  goes  so  far  as  to  spend  a  long 
cold  night  in  a  damp  and  uncomfortable  wood, 
only  to  be  dismissed  in  the  morning  without  the 
embrace,  in  the  hope  of  gaining  which  he  has  vio- 
lated his  philosophy  and  taken  the  chances  of  rheu- 
matism. Altogether  a  man  devoid  of  affections, 

ix 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

who  loves  his  son,  his  wife,  and  his  mother-in-law, 
may  be  regarded  as  doing  pretty  well.  Again 
(since  we  are  on  the  chapter  of  inconsistencies), 
in  that  dreary  and  pompous  letter  written  to  Louis 
by  his  father,  which  expounds  the  text  of  what 
becomes  the  son's  rule  of  conduct,  he  is  gravely 
charged  to  fling  religion  and  morality  out  of  the 
window,  but  to  cherish  "honour"  as  it  were  his 
life.  "  It  is  clear  that  a  materialist  can't  be  a  saint, 
but  he  can  be  a  gentleman,  and  that  is  something," 
complacently  writes  the  elder  Comte  de  Camors. 
Louis,  however,  though  he  makes  loud  acts  of 
faith  in  this  inexpensive  gospel,  never  hesitates  to 
betray  his  friend,  to  seduce  the  wife  of  his  bene- 
factor, nor  to  marry  an  unsuspecting  child,  who 
loves  him,  for  the  sheer  purpose  of  screening  an 
intrigue  with  "  another  lady,"  which  he  still  intends 
to  carry  on.  Feuillet,  perhaps,  saves  his  face  by 
heaping  upon  this  impossible  being's  head  all  the 
punishments  that  are  poetically  due  to  crime,  but 
he  doesn't  save  Monsieur  dc  Camors.  It  is  a  dis- 
mal volume,  uncommonly  hard  to  read.  And  yet 
— art  will  out ;  and  dismal  as  it  is,  it  presents  to 
us  one  of  Feuillet's  most  captivating  women,  Louis 
de  Camors'  ingenuous  little  wife.  Listen  to  her 
artless  pronouncement  upon  Monsieur's  evangel 
of  "honour."  "Mon  Dieu,"  she  says,  "I'm  not 

x 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

sure,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  honour  apart  from 
morality  is  nothing  very  great,  and  that  morality 
apart  from  religion  is  nothing  at  all.  It's  like  a 
chain  :  honour  hangs  in  the  last  link,  like  a  flower  ; 
but  when  the  chain  is  broken,  the  flower  falls  with 
the  rest." 

If,  however,  Feuillet's  villains  are  failures,  his 
adventuresses  and  bad  women  are  grotesquer  fail- 
ures still.  And  no  wonder.  His  reluctance  to 
fashion  an  ugly  thing  out  of  material  that  would, 
in  the  natural  course  of  his  impressions,  suggest  to 
him  none  but  ideas  of  beauty,  is  quite  enough  to 
account  for  it.  Octave  Feuillet  is  too  much  a 
gentleman,  too  much  a  preux  chevalier,  to  be  able 
to  get  any  intellectual  understanding  of  a  bad 
woman ;  the  actual  operations  of  a  bad  woman's 
soul  are  things  he  can  get  no  rt  realizing  sense  "  of. 
So  he  dresses  up  a  marionette,  which  shall  do  all 
the  wicked  feminine  things  his  game  necessitates, 
which  shall  plot  and  poison,  wreck  the  innocent 
heroine's  happiness,  attitudinize  as  a  fiend  in  wom- 
an's clothing,  and  even,  at  a  pinch,  die  a  violent 
death,  but  which  shall  never  let  us  forget  that  it  is 
stuffed  with  saw-dust  and  moved  by  strings.  Ma- 
dame de  Campvallon,  Sabine  Tallevaut,  Madem- 
oiselle Helouin,  even  Julia  de  Trecoeur — the 
more  they  change,  the  more  they  are  the  same: 

xi 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

sister-puppets,  dolls  carved  from  a  common  parent- 
block,  to  be  dragged  through  their  appointed  ca- 
reers of  improbable  naughtiness.  You  can  recog- 
nise them  at  once  by  their  haunting  likeness  to 
the  proud  beauties  of  the  hair-dresser's  window. 
They  are  always  statuesque,  always  cold,  reserved, 
mysterious,  serpentlike,  goddesslike — everything, 
in  fine,  that  bad  women  of  flesh  and  blood  are  not. 
Octave  Feuillet,  the  wit  and  the  man  of  the  world, 
knows  this  as  well  as  we  do  ;  and  knowing  it,  he 
tries,  by  verbal  fire-works,  to  make  us  forget  it. 
"  She  charms  me — she  reminds  me  of  a  sorceress," 
says  some  one  of  Sabine  Tallevant.  "  Do  you  no- 
tice, she  walks  without  a  sound  ?  Her  feet  scarcely 
touch  the  earth — she  walks  like  a  somnambulist — 
like  Lady  Macbeth."  It  is  the  old  trick,  the  tra- 
ditional boniment  of  the  showman  ;  but  not  all  the 
boniments  in  Feuillet's  sack  can  make  us  believe  in 
Sabine  Tallevaut. 

One  can  recognise  Feuillet's  bad  women,  too, 
by  the  uncanny  influence  they  immediately  cast 
upon  his  men.  "  More  taciturn  than  ever,  absent, 
strange,  as  if  she  were  meditating  some  profound 
design,  all  at  once  she  seemed  to  wake  ;  she  lifted 
her  long  lashes,  let  her  blue  eyes  wander  here 
and  there,  and  suddenly  looked  straight  at  Ca- 
mors,  who  was  conscious  of  a  thrill " — that  is 

xii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

how  Mme.  de  Campvallon  does  it,  and  the  fact 
is  conclusive,  so  far  as  her  moral  character  is  in 
question.  None  of  Feuillet's  good  women  would 
ever  dream  of  making  a  man  "thrill"  at  her  first 
encounter  with  him.  But  Feuillet's  bad  women 
will  stop  at  nothing.  Julia  de  Tre'coeur  takes  her 
own  step-father,  a  middle-aged,  plain,  stout,  pro- 
saic country  gentleman,  and  throws  him  into  a 
paroxysm  that  has  to  be  expressed  in  this  wise : 
"  It  was  a  mad  intoxication,  which  the  savour 
of  guilt  only  intensified.  Duty,  loyalty,  honour, 
whatsoever  presented  itself  as  an  obstacle  to  his 
passion,  did  but  exasperate  its  fury.  The  pagan 
Venus  had  bitten  him  in  the  heart,  and  injected 
her  poisonso  A  vision  of  Julia's  fatal  beauty  was 
present  without  surcease,  in  his  burning  brain, 
before  his  troubled  eyes.  Avidly,  in  spite  of 
himself,  he  drank  in  her  languors,  her  perfumes, 
her  breath." 

Julia  de  Trtcceur  has  sometimes  been  called 
Feuillet's  master-piece.  One  eminent  critic  re- 
marks that  in  writing  it  Feuillet  "  dived  into  the 
vast  ocean  of  human  nature,  and  brought  up  a 
pearl."  Well,  there  are  pearls  and  pearls  ;  there 
are  real  pearls  and  artificial  pearls ;  there  are  white 
pearls  and  black  pearls,  It  might  seem  to  some 
of  us  that  Julia  de  Trfroeur  is  an  artificial  black 


Xlll 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

one.  Frankly,  as  a  piece  of  literature,  the  novel 
is  justr  in  three  words  a  fairly  good  melodrama. 
Julia  herself  is  the  proper  melodramatic  heroine. 
Her  beauty  is  "  fatal,"  her  passions  are  ungovern- 
able, and  she  dearly  loves  a  scene.  Now  she  con- 
templates retirement  into  a  convent,  now  matri- 
mony, now  a  leap  from  the  cliffs ;  and  each 
change  of  mood  is  inevitably  the  occasion  for 
much  ranting  and  much  attitudinizing.  Her  his- 
tory is  a  fairly  good  melodrama.  That  it  is  not 
a  tip-top  melodrama  is  due  to  the  circumstance 
that  Feuillet  was  too  intelligent  a  man  to  be  able 
to  make  it  so.  He  can't  keep  out  his  wit ;  and 
every  now  and  again  his  melodrama  forgets  itself, 
and  becomes  sane  comedy.  He  can't  keep  out 
his  touches  of  things  simple  and  human ;  the 
high-flown,  unhuman  remainder  suffers  from  the 
contrast. 

Why,  one  wonders,  with  his  flair  for  the  sub- 
tleties of  the  normal,  with  his  genius  for  extract- 
ing their  charm  from  trifles,  why  should  Feuillet 
have  turned  his  hand  to  melodrama  at  all  ?  Is 
it  partly  because  he  lived  in  and  wrote  for  a 
highly  melodramatic  period — "  the  dear,  good  days 
of  the  dear,  bad  Second  Empire  "  ?  Partly,  too, 
no  doubt,  because,  as  some  one  has  said,  the  artist 
can  never  forgive,  though  he  can  easily  forget,  his 

xiv 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

limitations.  Like  the  comic  actor  who  will  not 
be  happy  till  he  has  appeared  as  Hamlet,  the 
novelist,  also,  will  cherish  his  unreasoning  aspira- 
tions. And  then,  melodrama  is  achieved  before 
you  know  it.  Any  incident  that  is  not  in  itself 
essentially  ^dramatic  will  become  melodramatic, 
when  you  try  to  treat  it,  it  will  become  forced 
and  stagey,  if  dramatic  incidents  are  not  the  spon- 
taneous issue  of  your  talent.  Dramatic  incidents 
are  far  from  being  the  spontaneous  issue  of  Feuil- 
let's talent ;  they  are  its  changelings.  His  talent 
is  all  preoccupied  in  fathering  children  of  a  quite 
opposite  complexion.  Style,  suavity,  elegance, 
sentiment,  colour,  atmosphere — these  are  Feuil- 
let's preoccupations.  Action,  incident,  are,  when 
necessary,  necessary  evils.  So  his  action,  when 
he  is  at  his  best,  loiters,  saunters,  or  even  stops 
dead-still ;  until  suddenly  he  remembers  that,  after 
all,  his  story  must  some  time  reach  its  period,  and 
that  something  really  must  happen  to  advance  it. 
Thereupon,  hurriedly,  perfunctorily,  carelessly,  he 
"  knocks  off"  a  few  pages  of  incident — of  incident 
fast  and  furious — which  will,  as  likely  as  not,  read 
like  the  prompt-book  of  a  play  at  the  Adelphi. 

That  absurd  Sabine  Tallevaut,  whose  feet 
scarcely  touch  the  earth,  with  poison  in  her  hand 
and  adultery  in  her  heart,  is  the  one  disfigurement 

xv 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

upon  what  might  otherwise  have  been  Feuillet's 
most  nearly  perfect  picture.     In  spite  of  her,  La 
Morte  remains  a  work  of    exquisite  and  tender 
beauty ;   and    I'm   not   sure   whether  Aliette   de 
Vaudricourt  isn't  the  very  queen  of  all  his  women. 
If  Feuillet  was  too  much  a  gentleman  to  be  able 
to  paint  a  bad  woman,  he  was  too  much  a  man 
not  to  revel  in  painting  a  charming  one.     As  we 
pass  through  his  gallery  of   delightful   heroines, 
from  Aliette  de  Vaudricourt  to  Clothilde  de  Lu- 
can,  to  Mme.  de  Te"cle,  Marie  FitzGerald,  "  Miss 
Mary "  de  Camors,  Marguerite  Laroque,  even  to 
Jeanne  de  Maurescamp,   we  can   feel  the  man's 
admiration  pulsing  in  every  stroke  of  the  artist's 
brush.      He   takes   the  woman's   point   of   view, 
espouses   her  side  of   the  quarrel,  offers  himself 
as  her  champion  wherever  he  finds  that  a  cham- 
pion is  needed.     And  he  sticks  to  his  allegiance 
even  after,  as  in  the  case  of  Jeanne  de  Maures- 
camp, she  might  seem  to  have  forfeited  her  claim 
to  it.      Of  Jeanne   he  can   still  bring  himself  to 
say,  at  the  end  of  UHistoire  d'une  Parisienne : 
"Decidedly,   this  angel    had    become  a  monster; 
but  the   lesson   of  her  too-true   story  is,  that,  in 
the  moral  order,  no  one  is  born  a  monster.     God 
makes  no  monsters.     It  is  man  who  makes  them." 
In  this  instance,  however,  Feuillet  is,  perhaps, 
xvi 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

rather  the  apologist  than  the  champion.  His  con- 
tention is  that  Jeanne  was  by  nature  virtuous,  and 
that  her  virtue  has  been  destroyed  by  the  stu- 
pidity and  the  brutality  of  her  ill-chosen  hus- 
band. But  Feuillet  has  too  fine  and  too  judicious 
a  wit  to  insist  upon  the  note  of  strenuousness. 
Seeing  the  woman's  point  of  view,  he  sees  its 
humours  as  well  as  its  pathos.  Admitting  that 
men  for  the  most  part  are  grossly  unworthy  of 
her,  and  that  woman  has  infinitely  the  worst  of 
it  in  the  arrangements  of  society,  admitting  and 
deploring  it,  he  doesn't  profess  to  know  how  to 
set  it  right ;  he  has  no  practical  reform  to  preach. 
His  business  is  to  divert  us,  and,  if  he  must  be 
serious,  to  be  serious  gaily  and  charmingly.  And 
perhaps  he  is  most  serious,  not  when  composing 
an  epitaph  for  Jeanne  de  Maurescamp,  but  when 
he  is  lightly  saying  (in  the  person  of  the  Comtesse 
Jules)  :  "  Always  remember,  my  poor  dear,  that 
women  are  born  to  suffer — and  men  to  be  suf- 
fered." 

Charmingly  serious  himself,  Feuillet's  heroines 
likewise  are  always  serious,  in  their  different 
charming  ways.  They  may  be  wilful  and  capri- 
cious, like  Marguerite  Laroque,  or  fond  of  the 
excitements  of  the  world,  like  Mme.  de  Rias, 
or  wise  in  their  generation,  like  Mme.  de  la 

xvii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

Veyle,  but  they  are  always  womanly  and  human 
at  the  red-ripe  of  the  heart,  and  they  are  almost 
always  religious.  A  sceptic,  scepticlike,  Feuil- 
let  utterly  discountenances  scepticism  in  woman. 
Even  his  most  recusant  of  masculine  unbelievers, 
the  Vicomte  de  Vaudricourt,  proclaims  his  prefer- 
ence for  a  pious  wife.  "  Not,  of  course,"  he  says, 
"that  I  exaggerate  the  moral  guarantees  offered 
by  piety,  or  that  I  mistake  it  for  a  synonym  of 
virtue.  But  still  it  is  certain  that  with  women 
the  idea  of  duty  is  rarely  dissociated  from  religious 
ideas.  Because  religion  doesn't  keep  all  of  them 
straight,  it  is  an  error  to  conclude  that  it  keeps 
none  of  them  straight ;  and  it's  always  well  to  be 
on  the  safe  side."  Elsewhere  Feuillet  gives  us 
his  notion  of  the  moral  outlook  of  the  woman 
who  is  not  religious.  Evil  for  her,  he  tells  us, 
ceases  to  be  evil,  and  becomes  simply  inconve- 
nance.  Tis  a  very  mannish,  a  very  Frenchman- 
nish,  way  of  viewing  the  thing. 

One  has  sometimes  heard  it  maintained  that 
only  women  can  reveal  themselves  with  perfect 
grace  in  a  form  so  intimate  as  letters  or  a  diary  ; 
that  a  man's  hand  is  apt  to  be  too  heavy,  his 
manner  too  self-conscious.  Perhaps  it  is  Feuil- 
let's sympathy  with  women  that  has  made  him  the 
dab  he  is  at  this  womanly  art.  In  La  Mortc,  for 

xviii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

instance,  we  learn  vastly  more  of  Bernard's  char- 
acter from  his  diary  than  we  should  from  thrice 
the  number  of  pages  of  third-personal  exposition. 
The  letters  from  Marie  to  her  mother,  in  Mon- 
sieur de  Cantors,  furnish  the  single  element  of 
relief  in  that  lugubrious  composition.  Even  those 
that  pass  between  Rias  and  Mme.  de  Lorris,  in 
Un  Mariage  dans  le  Monde — though  their  sub- 
ject-matter is  sufficiently  depressing,  though  the 
man  is  an  egotistical  cad,  and  the  great  lady  who 
is  giving  him  her  help  and  pity  ought  rather  to 
despise  and  spurn  him — are  exceedingly  good  and 
natural  letters ;  and  the  letter  from  Mme.  de  Rias 
to  Ke>ern,  which  ends  the  book,  is  a  very  jewel 
of  a  letter.  But  it  is  in  the  diary  of  his  poor 
young  man  that  Feuillet's  command  of  the  first 
person  singular  attains  its  most  completely  satis- 
fying results. 

Le  Roman  d'un  Jeune  Homme  Pauvre  is  a  tale 
of  youth,  for  the  young ;  and  the  eldest  of  us  may 
count  himself  still  young  if  he  can  still  enjoy  it. 
Here  we  have  romance  pure  and  simple,  a  thing 
of  glamour  all  compact ;  and  the  danger-line  that 
so  definitely  separates  romance  from  absurdity,  yet 
leaves  them  so  perilously  near  together,  is  never 
crossed.  The  action  passes  in  the  country,  and  in 
the  most  delectable  sort  of  country  at  that — the 

xix 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

country  of  the  appreciative  and  imaginative  cit. 
Before  all  things  a  Parisian,  Feuillet  is  never  par- 
ticularly happy  in  presenting  Paris.  His  Paris  is 
correct  enough  in  architecture  and  topography,  no 
doubt ;  but  the  spirit  of  Paris,  the  whatever  it  is 
which  makes  Paris  Paris,  and  not  merely  a  large 
town,  somehow  evades  him.  Possibly  he  knew 
his  Paris  too  well ;  familiarity  had  bred  a  kind  of 
inability  to  see,  to  focus,  a  kind  of  "  staleness.'' 
Anyhow,  it  is  when  he  gets  away  from  Paris  that  he 
wakes  to  the  opportuneness  and  the  opportunities 
of  scenic  backgrounds.  His  eye,  "stale"  to  town, 
is  now  all  eagerness,  all  freshness.  Impressions  of 
beauty  crowd  upon  him.  He  sees  the  country  as 
it  is  doubtful  whether  the  countryman  ever  sees 
it — the  countryman  who  has  been  surfeited  with 
it,  who  has  long  since  forgotten  its  first  magical 
effect.  He  brings  to  the  country  the  sensitiveness 
which  is  the  product  of  the  city's  heat  and  strife. 
Dew  and  wild  flowers,  the  green  of  grass  and  trees, 
the  music  of  birds,  the  flutter  of  their  wings,  the 
pure  air,  the  wide  prospects,  the  changing  lights- 
it  is  to  the  appreciative  and  imaginative  townsman 
that  these  speak  their  finest  message. 

But  Feuillet  is  more  than  a  townsman  :  he  is 
a  teller  of  fairy-tales.  To  him  the  country  is  a 
free  playground  for  his  fancy.  There  beautiful 

xx 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

ladies  and  gallant  knights  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  love  and  to  sing ;  and  there,  without  destroying 
our  illusion,  he  can  leave  them  to  live  happily  for- 
ever after.  The  Brittany,  in  which  Maxime  and 
Marguerite  meet  and  misunderstand  and  woo  and 
wed,  is  not  that  northwestern  corner  of  France 
that  one  can  reach  in  a  few  hours  by  steamer  from 
Southampton  ;  it  is  a  Brittany  of  fairy  woods  and 
streams  and  castles,  that  never  was,  save  in  the 
poet's  dream.  For  if  others  of  Feuillet's  novels 
have  been  only  in  part  fairy-tales,  or  only  rather 
like  fairy-tales,  the  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 
is  a  fairy-tale  wholly  and  absolutely.  The  person- 
ages of  the  story  are  the  invariable  personages  of 
the  fairy-tale  :  the  prince  disguised  as  a  wood-cut- 
ter, in  the  Marquis  de  Champcey  disguised  as  a 
farm-bailiff ;  the  haughty  princess,  who  will  not 
love,  yet  loves  despite  her  will,  and  is  rewarded  by 
the  wood-cutter's  appearing  in  all  the  prince's  splen- 
dour at  the  proper  time,  in  Marguerite  Laroque ; 
the  bad  prince  and  the  bad  princess,  in  M.  de 
Be"vallon  and  Mile.  Helouin  ;  the  good  magician, 
in  M.  Laube*pin  ;  and  the  delightfullest  of  conceiv- 
able fairy  godmothers,  in  Mile,  de  Porhoet.  And 
the  progress  of  the  story  is  the  wonted  progress  of 
the  fairy-tale.  There  is  hardship,  but  it  is  overcome ; 
there  are  perils,  but  they  are  turned  ;  misconceptions, 

xxi 


Octave   Feuillet's   Novels 

but  they  are  cleared  up.  There  are  empty  pockets, 
but  there  is  the  bag  of  gold  waiting  to  fill  them. 
The  marvellous  never  shocks  our  credulity,  the 
longest-armed  coincidences  seem  the  most  natural 
happenings  in  the  world.  We  are  not  in  the  least 
surprised  when,  at  the  right  moment,  the  bag  of 
gold  appears  at  Maxime's  feet,  enabling  him  to 
marry  ;  it  is  the  foregone  consequence  of  his  hav- 
ing a  fairy  godmother.  We  don't  even  raise  the 
eyebrow  of  doubt  when  the  Laroques  contemplate 
relinquishing  their  fortune  to  the  poor,  so  that 
Marguerite  may  come  to  her  lover  empty-handed ; 
that  is  the  accepted  device  of  the  fairy-tale  for 
administering  to  the  proud  princess  her  well- 
deserved  humiliation.  In  one  small  detail  only 
does  the  fairy-tale  teller  lose  himself,  and  let  the 
novelist  supplant  him  ;  that  is  where  he  implies 
that  the  bad  prince  and  princess,  after  their  wicked 
wiles  had  been  discovered,  took  the  train  to  Paris. 
They  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  They  were  turned 
into  blocks  of  stone,  and  condemned  to  look  on  at 
the  happiness  of  the  good  prince  and  princess  from 
the  terrace  of  the  Chateau  de  Laroque. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed,  because  the  per- 
sonages of  the  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man  are 
fairy-tale  personages,  that  therefore  they  are  not 
human  personages.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  the 

xxii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

humanity  of  its  personages  that  makes  your  fairy- 
tale interesting.  You  stick  to  human  men  and 
women,  you  merely  more  or  less  improve  the  con- 
ditions of  their  existence,  you  merely  revise  and 
amend  a  little  the  laws  of  the  external  universe — 
an  easy  thing  to  do,  in  spite  of  the  unthinking 
people  who  prate  of  those  laws  as  immutable. 
Then  the  fun  consists  in  seeing  how  human  nature 
will  persist  and  react.  Surely  none  of  Feuillet's 
heroines  is  more  engagingly  human  than  Margue- 
rite Laroque.  It  is  true  that  we  see  her  only 
through  the  eyes  of  a  chronicler  who  happens  to 
be  infatuated  with  her,  but  we  know  what  dis- 
count to  allow  for  that.  We  are  confident  from 
her  first  entrance  that  if,  as  we  hope,  our  poor 
young  man's  head  is  screwed  on  as  poor  young 
men's  heads  should  be,  Marguerite  will  turn  it. 
We  learn  that  she  is  capricious,  therefore  Maxime 
will  be  constant ;  that  she  is  proud,  therefore,  in 
all  humility,  he  will  be  prouder ;  that  she  is  hum- 
ble, therefore,  in  all  pride,  he  will  humble  himself 
at  her  feet.  But  antecedent  to  all  this,  and  just 
because  his  ostensible  business  in  Brittany  is  the 
management  of  the  Laroques'  estate,  no  one  needs 
to  warn  us  that  his  real  business  will  be  the  con- 
quest of  the  Laroques'  daughter.  We  can  foresee 
with  half  an  eye  that  the  affairs  of  the  estate  are 

xxiii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

affairs  which  our  disguised  marquis  will  consci- 
entiously neglect.  Indeed,  Mme.  Laroque  her- 
self seems  to  have  been  haunted  by  something  of 
the  same  premonition.  What  does  she  say  to  the 
sous-pre'fet  ?  "  Mon  Dieu,  ne  m'en  parlez  pas ; 
il-y-a  la  un  mystere  inconcevable.  Nous  pensons 
que  c'est  quelque  prince  de'guise'.  .  .  .  Entre 
nous,  mon  cher  sous-pre'fet,  je  crois  bien  que  c'est 
un  tres-mauvais  intendant,  mais  vraiment  c'est  un 
homme  tres-agre"able." 

She  might  have  added  "  un  homme  tres-digne." 
For  if  we  have  a  fault  to  find  with  Maxime,  it  is 
that  he  seems  just  possibly  a  thought  too  "  digne." 
But  that  is  a  fault  common  to  so  many  men  in 
fiction.  French  novelists,  like  English  lady  novel- 
ists, are  terribly  apt  to  make  their  men  too  "  digne  " 
— when  they  don't  make  them  too  unspeakably  in- 
digne.  Maxime,  however,  we  mustn't  forget,  is  his 
own  portraitist,  and  we'll  hope  in  this  detail  the 
portrait  errs.  For  the  rest,  we  are  content  to  ac- 
cept it  as  he  paints  it.  He  is  a  poor  young  man, 
but  he  is  also  a  fairy  prince.  Therefore  he  can 
vaunt  himself  as  an  ordinary  poor  young  man 
could  hardly  do  with  taste.  He  can  perform  and 
narrate  his  prodigies  of  skill  and  valour  without 
offending.  He  can  rescue  an  enormous  Newfound- 
land dog  from  a  raging  torrent,  for  example,  with 

xxiv 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

the  greatest  ease  in  the  world,  an  exploit  you  or  I 
might  have  found  ticklish,  and  he  can  tell  us  of  it 
afterward,  a  proceeding  you  or  I  might  have  shrunk 
from  as  vainglorious.  For  Maxime  is  a  fairy  prince ; 
the  dog  belongs  to  the  fairy  princess ;  and  the  bad 
prince,  the  rival,  who  is  standing  by,  doesn't  know 
how  to  swim.  Again,  with  splendid  indifference, 
he  can  accomplish  and  record  his  leap  from  the 
Tour  d'  Elven  to  save  the  fairy  princess  from  a 
situation  that  might,  in  Fairyland,  have  compro- 
mised her  ;  hadn't  the  princess  unjustly  impugned 
his  honour,  and  insinuated  that  the  situation  was 
one  he  had  deliberately  brought  to  pass  ?  "  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis  de  Champcey,  y  a-t-il  eu  beaucoup 
de  laches  dans  votre  famille  avant  vous  ?  "  superb- 
ly demands  Marguerite  ;  and  we  can  see  her  kin- 
dling eye,  the  scornful  curl  of  her  lip,  we  can  hear 
the  disdainful  tremor  of  her  voice.  Maxime 
would  be  a  poor-spirited  poor  young  man,  indeed, 
if,  after  that,  he  should  hesitate  to  jump.  And 
he  has  his  immediate  compensation.  "  Maxime  ! 
Maxime!"  cries  the  haughty  princess,  now  all 
remorse,  "  par  grace,  par  pitie"  !  au  nom  du  bon 
Dieu,  parlez-moi !  pardonnez-moi  ! "  So  that, 
though  the  prince  goes  away  with  a  broken  arm, 
the  lover  carries  exultancy  in  his  heart. 

Is  Maxime  perhaps  just  a  thought  too  "digne," 

XXV 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

also,  in  his  relations  with  his  little  sister — when 
he  visits  her  at  school,  for  instance,  and  promises 
to  convey  the  bread  she  cannot  eat  to  some  deserv- 
ing beggar  ?  At  the  moment  he  is  the  most  de- 
serving beggar  he  chances  to  know  of,  but  he  is 
resolved  to  keep  his  beggary  a  secret  from  HeUene. 
"  Cher  Maxime,"  says  she,  "  a  bientot,  n'est-ce  pas  ? 
Tu  me  diras  si  tu  as  rencontre*  un  pauvre,  si  tu  lui 
as  donne"  mon  pain,  et  s'il  1'a  trouve*  bon."  And 
Maxime,  in  his  journal :  "  Oui,  Helene,  j'ai  ren- 
contre" un  pauvre,  et  je  lui  ai  donne"  ton  pain,  qu'il 
a  emporte"  comme  une  proie  dans  sa  mansarde  soli- 
taire, et  il  1'a  trouve"  bon  ;  mais  c'e*tait  un  pauvre 
sans  courage,  car  il  a  pleure"  en  devorant  I'aum6ne 
de  tes  petites  mains  bien-aime"es.  Je  te  dirai  tout 
cela,  He"lene,  car  il  est  bon  que  tu  saches  qu'il  y  a 
sur  la  terre  des  soufTrances  plus  se"rieuses  que  tes 
souffrances  d'enfant :  je  te  dirai  tout,  excepte*  le 
nom  du  pauvre."  It  certainly  is  "  digne,"  isn't  it  ? 
Is  it  a  trifle  too  much  so  ?  Isn't  it  a  trifle  priggish, 
a  trifle  preachy  ?  Is  it  within  the  limits  of  pure 
pathos  ?  Or  does  it  just  cross  the  line  ?  I  don't 
know. 

I  am  rather  inclined  to  think  that  Maxime  is 
at  his  best — at  once  most  human  and  most  fairy 
princelike — in  his  relations  with  the  pre-eminently 
human  fairy  Porhoet.  He  is  entirely  human,  and 

xxvi 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

weak,  and  nice,  when  he  blurts  out  to  her  the 
secret  of  his  high  birth.  Hadn't  she  just  been 
boasting  of  her  own,  and  invidiously  citing  Mon- 
sieur 1'intendant  as  a  typical  plebeian  ?  "  En  ce 
qui  me  concerne,  mademoiselle,"  he  has  the  human 
weakness  to  retort,  "  vous  vous  trompez,  car  ma 
famille  a  eu  1'honneur  d'etre  allie'e  a  la  votre,  et 
re'ciproquement."  He  remains  human  and  weak 
throughout  the  somewhat  embarrassing  explana- 
tions that  are  bound  to  follow ;  and  if,  in  their 
subsequent  proceedings,  after  she  has  adopted  him 
as  "  mon  cousin,"  he  will  still  from  time  to  time 
become  a  trifle  priggish  and  a  trifle  preachy,  we 
must  remember  that  mortal  man,  in  the  hands  of 
a  French  novelist,  has  to  choose  between  that  and 
a  career  of  profligacy. 

It  is  by  his  Roman  d'un  Jeune  Homme  Paiivre 
that  Feuillet  is  most  widely  known  outside  of 
France  ;  it  is  by  this  book  that  he  will  "  live,"  if 
he  is  to  live.  Certainly  it  is  his  freshest,  his  sin- 
cerest,  his  most  consistently  agreeable  book. 

HENRY  HARLAND, 


XXVll 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET  was  born  at  Saint-L6,  in 
the  department  of  the  Manche,  on  the  nth  of 
August,  1821.  His  father,  who  belonged  to  one  of 
the  oldest  Norman  families,  was  secretary-general 
to  the  prefect,  and  a  little  later,  in  the  revolution 
of  1830,  played  a  prominent  part  in  politics.  A 
hereditary  nervousness,  amounting  finally  to  a 
disease,  alone  prevented  him,  according  to  Guizot, 
from  being  given  a  portfolio  in  the  new  ministry. 
Octave  inherited  his  father's  excessive  sensibility, 
although  in  later  years  he  held  it  more  under 
control.  After  the  death  of  his  mother,  which  oc- 
curred as  he  was  developing  in  boyhood,  he  became 
so  melancholy  that,  at  the  advice  of  the  physicians, 
he  was  sent  to  a  school  in  Paris,  where  his  health 
gradually  became  re-established ;  afterward,  at  the 
College  de  Louis-le-Grand,  he  greatly  distinguished 
himself  as  a  scholar.  It  was  his  father  s  design 
to  prepare  him  for  the  diplomatic  career,  but 
already  the  desire  to  write  had  awakened  itself  in 

xxix  2— Vol.  9 


Biographical  Note 

him.  When  the  moment  came  for  choosing  a  pro- 
fession, Octave  timidly  confessed  his  determination 
to  make  literature  his  business  in  life ;  the  irascible 
old  gentleman  at  Saint-L6  t^lrned  him  out  of  the 
house,  and  cut  off  his  allowance.  He  returned  to 
Paris,  and  for  three  years  had  a  hard  struggle 
with  poverty.  During  this  time,  under  the  encour- 
agement of  the  great  actor  Bocage,  Octave  Feuil- 
let  brought  out  three  dramas,  " Echec  et  Mat" 
" Palma"  and  "La  Vieillesse  de  Richelieu"  under 
the  pseudonym  of  "De'sire1  Hazard."  These  were 
successful,  and  the  playwright's  father  forgave  and 
welcomed  him  back  to  his  favour.  Octave  remained 
in  Paris,  actively  engaged  in  literary  work,  mainly 
dramatic,  but  gradually  in  the  line  of  prose  fiction 
also.  In  1846  he  published  his  novel  of  "  Polichi- 
nelle"  followed  in  1848  by  "  Onesta"  in  1849  by 
"  Redemption"  and  in  1850  by  "  Bellah"  None  of 
these  are  remembered  among  Octave  Feuillefs  best 
works,  but  he  was  gaining  skill  and  care  in  compo- 
sition. In  1850,  however,  he  was  suddenly  sum- 
moned home  to  Saint-L6  by  the  increased  melan- 
choly of  his  father,  who  could  no  longer  safely  be 
left  alone  in  the  gloomy  ancestral  mansion  which  he 
refused  to  leave.  Octave,  with  resignation,  de- 
termined to  sacrifice  his  life  to  the  care  of  his 
father,  and  in  this  piety  he  was  supported  by  his 

XXX 


Biographical  Note 

charming  cousin,  Vale"rie  Feuillet,  a  very  accom- 
plished and  devoted  woman,  whom  he  married  in 
1851.  For  eight  years  they  shared  this  painful 
exile,  the  father  of  Octave  scarcely  permitting  them 
to  leave  his  sight,  and  refusing  every  other  species 
of  society.  Strangely  enough,  this  imprisonment 
was  not  unfavourable  to  the  novelist's  genius ;  the 
books  he  wrote  during  this  period — "  JDalila"  "La 
Petite  Comtesse"  (1856),  "Le  Village"  and  finally 
"  Le  Roman  d'un  Jeune  Homme  Pauvre  (1858) — 
being  not  only  far  superior  to  what  he  had  previ- 
ously published,  but  among  the  very  finest  of  all  his 
works.  By  a  grim  coincidence,  on  almost  the  only 
occasion  on  which  Octave  Feuillet  ventured  to  ab- 
sent himself  for  a  day  or  two,  to  be  present  at  the 
performance  of  his  "Roman  d*un  Jeune  Homme 
Pauvre"  when  it  was  dramatized  in  1858,  the 
father  suddenly  died  while  the  son  was  in  Paris. 
This  was  a  great  shock  to  Feuillet,  who  bitterly 
and  unjustly  condemned  himself.  He  was  now, 
however,  free,  and,  with  his  wife  and  children, 
he  returned  to  Paris.  He  was  now  very  success- 
ful, and  soon  became  a  figure  at  Compiegne  and  in 
the  great  world.  In  1862  he  published  "  Sibylle? 
and  was  elected  a  member  of  the  French  Academy. 
A  great  favourite  of  the  Emperor  and  Empress, 
he  was  tempted  to  combine  the  social  life  at  Court 

xxxi 


Biographical  Note 

with  the  labours  of  literature.  His  health  began 
to  suffer  from  the  strain,  and,  to  recover,  he  re- 
tired again  to  Saint-L6,  where  he  lived,  not  in  the 
home  of  his  ancestors,  but  in  a  little  house  above 
the  ramparts,  called  Les  Paillers ;  for  the  future 
he  spent  only  the  winter  months  in  Paris.  His 
novels  became  fewer,  but  not  less  carefully  pre- 
pared;  he  enjoyed  a  veritable  triumph  with  "Mon- 
sieur de  Camors  "  in  1867.  Next  year  he  was  ap- 
pointed Royal  Librarian  at  Fontainebleau,  an  office 
which  he  held  till  the  fall  of  the  Empire.  He  then 
retired  to  Les  Paillers  again,  where  he  had  written 
"Julia  de  Trtcoeur  "  in  1868.  The  end  of  his  life  was 
troubled  by  domestic  bereavement  and  loss  of  health  ; 
he  hurried  restlessly  from  place  to  place,  a  prey 
to  constant  nervous  agitation.  His  later  writings 
were  numerous,  but  had  not  the  vitality  of  those 
previously  mentioned.  Octave  Feuillet  died  in 
Paris,  December  28,  1890,  and  was  succeeded  at  the 
French  Academy  by  Pierre  Loti.  Octave  was  the 
type  of  a  sensitive,  somewhat  melancholy  fine  gen- 
tleman ;  he  was  very  elegant  in  manners,  reserved 
and  ceremonious  in  society,  where  he  held  himself 
somewhat  remote  in  the  radiance  of  his  delicate 
wit ;  but  within  the  bosom  of  his  family  he  was 
tenderly  and  almost  pathetically  demonstrative. 
The  least  criticism  was  torture  to  him,  and  it  is 

xxxii 


Biographical  Note 

said  that  when  his  comedy  of  "  La  Belle  au  Bois 
Dormant "  was  hissed  off  the  boards  of  the  Vaude- 
ville in  1865,  for  three  weeks  afterward  the  life  of 
Feuillet  was  in  danger.  Fortunately,  however,  for 
a  "fiery  particle  "  so  sensitive,  the  greater  part  of 
his  career  was  one  continuous  triumph. 

E.  G. 


XXXlll 


CONTENTS 


PACES 

v-xxvii 


Octave  Feuillet's  Novels 

Henry  Harland 

Life  of  Octave  Feuillet xxix-xxxiii 

Edmund  Gosse 

The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man     .     .       1-248 

The  Portraits  of  Octave  Feuillet  ....  249-256 
Octave  Uzanne 


xxxv 


THE  ROMANCE 
OF  A  POOR  YOUNG  MAN 


Sursum  corda  ! 

PARIS,  April  25, 185-. 

THE  second  evening  I  have  passed  in  this  mis- 
erable room,  staring  gloomily  at  the  bare  hearth, 
hearing  the  dull  monotone  of  the  street,  and  feel- 
ing more  lonely,  more  forsaken,  and  nearer  to 
despair  in  the  heart  of  this  great  city  than  a  ship- 
wrecked man  shivering  on  a  broken  plank  in  mid- 
ocean. 

I  have  done  with  cowardice.  I  will  look  my 
destiny  in  the  face  till  it  loses  its  spectral  air. 
I  will  open  my  sorrowful  heart  to  the  one 
confidant  whose  pity  will  not  hurt,  to  that  pale 
last  friend  who  looks  back  at  me  from  the 
glass.  I  will  write  down  my  thoughts  and  my 
life,  not  in  trivial  and  childish  detail,  but  without 
serious  omissions,  and  above  all  without  lies.  I 
shall  love  my  journal ;  it  will  be  a  brotherly  echo 
to  cheat  my  loneliness,  and  at  the  same  time  a 

i 


second  conscience  warning  me  not  to  allow  any- 
thing to  enter  into  my  life  which  I  dare  not  write 
down  calmly  with  my  own  hand. 

Now,  with  sad  eagerness  I  search  the  past  for 
the  facts  and  incidents  which  should  have  long 
since  enlightened  me,  had  not  filial  respect,  habit, 
and  the  indifference  of  a  happy  idler  blinded  me. 
I  understand  now  my  mother's  deep  and  constant 
melancholy  ;  I  understand  her  distaste  for  society, 
and  why  she  wore  that  plain,  unvaried  dress  which 
sometimes  called  forth  sarcasms,  sometimes  wrath 
from  my  father. — "  You  look  like  a  servant,"  he 
would  say  to  her. 

I  could  not  but  be  conscious  that  our  family 
life  was  broken  by  more  serious  quarrels,  though 
I  was  never  an  actual  witness  of  them.  All  I 
heard  were  my  father's  sharp  and  imperious  tones, 
the  murmur  of  a  pleading  voice,  and  stifled  sobs. 
These  outbursts  I  attributed  to  my  father's  violent 
and  fruitless  attempts  to  revive  in  my  mother  the 
taste  for  the  elegant  and  brilliant  life  which  she 
had  once  enjoyed  as  much  as  becomes  a  virtuous 
woman,  but  into  which  she  now  accompanied  my 
father  with  a  repugnance  that  grew  stronger  every 
day.  After  such  crises,  my  father  nearly  always 
ran  off  to  buy  some  costly  trinket  which  my 
mother  found  in  her  table-napkin  at  dinner,  and 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

never  wore.  One  day  in  the  middle  of  winter  she 
received  a  large  box  of  rare  flowers  from  Paris ; 
she  thanked  my  father  warmly,  but  directly  he 
had  left  the  room,  I  saw  her  slightly  raise  her 
shoulders  and  look  up  to  heaven  with  an  expres- 
sion of  hopeless  despair. 

During  my  childhood  and  early  youth  I  had  a 
great  respect  for  my  father,  but  not  much  affec- 
tion. Indeed,  throughout  this  period  I  saw  only 
the  sombre  side  of  his  character — the  one  side  that 
showed  itself  in  domestic  life,  for  which  he  was 
not  fitted.  Later,  when  I  was  old  enough  to  go 
out  with  him,  I  was  surprised  and  charmed  to  find 
in  him  a  person  perfectly  new  to  me.  It  seemed 
as  if,  in  our  old  family  house,  he  felt  himself  con- 
strained by  some  fatal  spell  ;  once  beyond  its 
doors,  his  forehead  cleared,  his  chest  expanded, 
and  he  was  young  again.  "  Now,  Maxime,"  he 
would  cry,  "  now  for  a  gallop  ! "  And  joyously 
we  would  rush  along.  His  shouts  of  youthful 
pleasure,  his  enthusiasm,  his  fantastic  wit,  his 
bursts  of  feeling,  charmed  my  young  heart,  and  I 
longed  to  bring  something  of  all  this  back  to  my 
poor  mother,  forgotten  in  her  corner  at  home.  I 
began  to  love  my  father  ;  and  when  I  saw  all  the 
sympathetic  qualities  of  his  brilliant  nature  dis- 
played in  all  the  functions  of  social  life — at  hunts 

3 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

and  races,  balls  and  dinners — my  fondness  for  him 
became  an  actual  admiration.  A  perfect  horse- 
man, a  dazzling  talker,  a  bold  gambler,  daring  and 
open-handed,  he  became  for  me  the  finished  type 
of  manly  grace  and  chivalrous  nobility.  Indeed, 
he  would  speak  of  himself — smiling  with  some 
bitterness — as  the  last  of  the  gentlemen. 

Such  was  my  father  in  society ;  but  as  soon 
as  he  returned  to  his  home  my  mother  and  I  saw 
only  a  restless,  morose,  and  violent  old  man. 

My  father's  outbursts  to  a  creature  so  sweet 
and  delicate  as  my  mother  would  certainly  have 
revolted  me  had  they  not  been  followed  by  the 
quick  returns  of  tenderness  and  the  redoubled 
attentions  I  have  mentioned.  Justified  in  my 
eyes  by  these  proofs  of  penitence,  my  father 
seemed  to  be  only  a  naturally  kind,  warm-hearted 
man  sometimes  irritated  beyond  endurance  by  an 
obstinate  and  systematic  opposition  to  all  his 
tastes  and  preferences.  I  thought  my  mother  was 
suffering  from  some  nervous  derangement.  My 
father  gave  me  to  understand  so,  though,  and  as  I 
thought  very  properly,  he  only  referred  to  this 
subject  with  great  reserve. 

I  could  not  understand  what  were  my  mother's 
feelings  towards  my  father  ;  they  were — for  me — 
beyond  analysis  or  definition.  Sometimes  a 

4 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

strange  severity  glittered  in  the  looks  she  fixed 
on  him ;  but  it  was  only  a  flash,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment her  beautiful  soft  eyes  and  her  unchanged 
face  showed  nothing  but  tender  devotion  and 
passionate  submission. 

My  mother  had  been  married  at  fifteen,  and  I 
was  nearly  twenty-two  when  my  sister,  my  poor 
He"ldne,  was  born.  One  morning  soon  afterwards 
my  father  came  out  of  my  mother's  room  looking 
anxious.  He  signed  to  me  to  follow  him  into 
the  garden. 

"  Maxime,"  he  said,  after  walking  in  silence 
for  a  little,  "your  mother  gets  stranger  and 
stranger." 

"  She  is  so  ill  just  now,  father." 

"  Yes,  of  course.  But  now  she  has  the  oddest 
fancy  :  she  wants  you  to  study  law." 

"  Law  !  What !  Does  my  mother  want  me, 
at  my  age,  with  my  birth  and  position,  to  sit 
among  school-boys  on  the  forms  of  a  college  class- 
room ?  It  is  absurd." 

"  So  I  think,"  said  my  father  dryly,  "  but  your 
mother  is  ill,  and — there's  no  more  to  be  said." 

I  was  a  young  puppy  then,  puffed  up  by  my 
name,  my  importance,  and  my  little  drawing-room 
successes  ;  but  I  was  sound  at  heart,  and  I  wor- 
shipped my  mother,  with  whom  I  had  lived  for 

5 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

twenty  years  in  the  closest  intimacy  possible  be- 
tween two  human  souls.  I  hastened  to  assure  her 
of  my  obedience ;  she  thanked  me  with  a  sad 
smile  and  made  me  kiss  my  sister  who  was  sleep- 
ing on  her  lap. 

We  lived  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Greno- 
ble, so  I  could  attend  the  law  classes  at  the  uni- 
versity without  leaving  home.  Day  by  day  my 
mother  followed  my  progress  with  such  intense 
and  persistent  interest  that  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing that  she  had  some  stronger  motive  than  the 
fancy  of  an  invalid ;  that  perhaps  my  father's  hatred 
and  contempt  for  the  practical  and  tedious  side  of 
life  might  have  brought  about  a  certain  embarrass- 
ment in  our  affairs  which,  my  mother  thought,  a 
knowledge  of  law  and  a  business  training  would 
enable  me  to  put  right.  This  explanation  did 
not  satisfy  me.  No  doubt  my  father  had  often 
complained  bitterly  of  our  losses  during  the  Revo- 
lution, but  his  complaints  had  long  ceased,  and  I 
had  never  thought  them  well-founded,  because,  as 
far  as  I  could  see,  our  position  was  in  every  way 
satisfactory. 

We  lived  near  Grenoble  in  our  hereditary 
chateau,  which  was  famous  in  our  country  as  an 
aristocratic  and  lordly  dwelling.  My  fathei  and  I 
have  often  shot  or  hunted  for  a  whole  day  without 

6 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

going  off  our  own  land  or  out  of  our  own  woods. 
Our  stables  were  vast,  and  filled  with  expensive 
horses  of  which  my  father  was  very  fond  and  very 
proud.  Besides,  we  had  a  town-house  in  Paris  on 
the  Boulevard  des  Capucines,  where  comfortable 
quarters  were  always  reserved  for  occasional  visits. 
And  nothing  in  our  ordinary  way  of  living  could 
suggest  either  a  small  income  or  close  manage- 
ment. Even  as  regards  the  table,  my  father  in- 
sisted upon  a  particular  degree  of  delicacy  and 
refinement. 

My  mother's  health  declined  almost  imper- 
ceptibly. In  time  there  came  an  alteration  in  her 
disposition.  The  mouth  which,  at  all  events  in 
my  presence,  had  spoken  only  kind  words,  grew 
bitter  and  aggressive.  Every  step  I  took  beyond 
the  house  provoked  a  sarcasm.  My  father  was 
not  spared,  and  bore  these  attacks  with  a  patience 
that  seemed  to  me  exemplary,  but  he  got  more 
and  more  into  the  habit  of  living  away  from  home. 
He  told  me  that  he  must  have  distraction  and 
amusement.  He  always  wanted  me  to  go  with 
him,  and  my  love  of  pleasure,  and  the  eagerness 
of  youth,  and,  to  speak  truly,  my  lack  of  moral 
courage,  made  me  obey  him  too  readily. 

In  September,  185-,  there  were  some  races 
near  the  chateau,  and  several  of  my  father's  horses 

7 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

were  to  run.  We  started  early  and  lunched  on 
the  course.  About  the  middle  of  the  day,  as  I 
was  riding  by  the  course  watching  the  fortunes  of 
a  race,  one  of  our  men  came  up  and  said  he  had 
been  looking  for  me  for  more  than  half  an  hour. 
He  added  that  my  father  had  already  been  sent  for 
and  had  gone  back  to  my  mother  at  the  chateau, 
and  that  he  wanted  me  to  follow  him  at  once. 

"  But  what  in  Heaven's  name  is  the  matter?" 

"  I  think  madame  is  worse,"  said  the  servant. 

I  set  off  like  a  madman. 

When  I  reached  home  my  sister  was  playing 
on  the  lawn  in  the  middle  of  the  great,  silent 
courtyard.  As  I  dismounted,  she  ran  up  to  em- 
brace me,  and  said,  with  an  air  of  importance  and 
mystery  that  was  almost  joyful : 

"  The  cure*  has  come." 

I  did  not,  however,  perceive  any  unusual  ani- 
mation in  the  house,  nor  any  signs  of  disorder 
or  alarm.  I  went  rapidly  up  the  staircase,  and 
had  passed  through  the  boudoir  which  communi- 
cated with  my  mother's  room,  when  the  door 
opened  softly,  and  my  father  appeared.  I  stopped 
in  front  of  him  ;  he  was  very  pale,  and  his  lips 
were  trembling. 

o 

"  Maxime,"  he  said,  without  looking  at  mey 
"your  mother  is  asking  for  you." 

8 


I  wished  to  question  him,  but  he  checked  me 
with  a  gesture,  and  walked  hurriedly  towards  a 
window,  as  if  to  look  out.  I  entered.  My 
mother  lay  half-reclining  in  an  easy-chair,  one 
of  her  arms  hanging  limply  over  the  side.  Again 
I  saw  on  her  face,  now  as  white  as  wax,  the  ex- 
quisite sweetness  and  delicate  grace  which  lately 
had  been  driven  away  by  suffering.  Already  the 
Angel  of  Eternal  Rest  was  casting  the  shadow  of 
his  wing  over  that  peaceful  brow.  I  fell  upon 
my  knees ;  she  half-opened  her  eyes,  raised  her 
drooping  head  with  an  effort,  and  enveloped  me 
in  a  long,  loving  look.  Then,  in  a  voice  which 
was  scarcely  more  than  a  broken  sigh,  she  slowly 
spoke  these  words : 

"  Poor  child !  .  .  .  I  am  worn  out,  you  see ! 
Do  not  weep.  You  have  deserted  me  a  little 
lately,  but  I  have  been  so  trying.  We  shall  meet 
again,  Maxime,  and  we  shall  understand  one  an- 
other, my  son.  I  can't  say  any  more.  .  .  .  Remind 
your  father  of  his  promise  to  me.  .  .  .  And  you, 
Maxime,  be  strong  in  the  battle  of  life,  and  for- 
give the  weak." 

She  seemed  to  be  exhausted,  and  stopped  for 
a  moment.  Then,  raising  a  finger  with  difficulty, 
and  looking  at  me  fixedly,  she  said :  "  Your 
sister ! " 

9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Her  livid  eyelids  closed  ;  then  suddenly  she 
opened  them,  and  threw  out  her  arms  with  a  rigid 
and  sinister  gesture.  I  uttered  a  cry ;  my  father 
came  quickly,  and,  with  heartrending  sobs,  pressed 
the  poor  martyr's  body  to  his  bosom. 

Some  weeks  later,  at  the  formal  request  of  my 
father,  who  said  that  he  was  obeying  the  last  wishes 
of  her  whom  we  mourned,  I  left  France,  and  be- 
gan that  wandering  life  which  I  have  led  nearly 
up  to  this  day.  During  a  year's  absence  my  heart, 
becoming  more  affectionate  as  the  selfish  frenzy  of 
youth  burnt  out,  urged  me  to  return  and  renew 
my  life  at  its  source,  between  my  mother's  tomb 
and  my  sister's  cradle.  But  my  father  had  fixed 
the  duration  of  my  travels,  and  he  had  not 
brought  me  up  to  treat  his  wishes  lightly.  He 
wrote  to  me  affectionately,  though  briefly,  show- 
ing no  desire  to  hasten  my  return.  So  I  was  the 
more  alarmed  when  I  arrived  at  Marseilles,  two 
months  ago,  and  found  several  letters  from  him, 
all  feverishly  begging  me  to  return  at  once. 

It  was  on  a  sombre  February  evening,  that  I 
saw  once  more  the  massive  walls  of  our  ancient 
house  standing  out  against  the  light  veil  of  snow 
that  lay  upon  the  country.  A  sharp  north  wind 
blew  in  icy  gusts ;  flakes  of  frozen  sleet  dropped 
like  dead  leaves  from  the  trees  of  the  avenue,  and 

10 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

struck  the  wet  soil  with  a  faint  and  plaintive 
sound.  As  I  entered  the  court  a  shadow,  which 
I  took  to  be  my  father's,  fell  upon  a  window  of 
the  large  drawing-room  on  the  ground  floor — 
a  room  which  had  not  been  used  during  my 
mother's  last  days.  I  hurried  on,  and  my  father, 
seeing  me,  gave  a  hoarse  cry,  then  opened  his 
arms  to  me,  and  I  felt  his  heart  beating  wildly 
against  my  own. 

"Thou  art  frozen,  my  poor  child,"  he  said, 
much  against  his  habit,  for  he  seldom  addressed 
me  in  the  second  person.  "  Warm  thyself,  warm 
thyself.  This  is  a  cold  room,  but  I  prefer  it  now  ; 
at  least  one  can  breathe  here." 

"Are  you  well,  father?" 

"  Pretty  well,  as  you  see." 

Leaving  me  by  the  fireplace,  he  resumed  his 
walk  across  the  vast  salon,  dimly  lighted  by  two 
or  three  candles.  I  seemed  to  have  interrupted 
this  walk  of  his.  This  strange  welcome  alarmed 
me.  I  looked  at  my  father  in  dull  surprise. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  horses?"  he  said  sudden- 
ly, without  stopping. 

"  But,  father " 

"  Ah,  yes,  of  course,  you've  only  just  come." 
After  a  silence  he  continued.  "  Maxime,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

ii 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"I'm  listening,  father." 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  me,  but  walked  about 
a  little,  and  kept  on  repeating,  "  I  have  something 
to  tell  you,  my  son."  At  last  he  sighed  deeply, 
passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and  sitting 
down  suddenly,  signed  to  me  to  take  a  seat  oppo- 
site to  him.  Then,  as  if  he  wanted  to  speak  and 
had  not  the  courage  to  do  so,  his  eyes  rested  on 
mine,  and  I  read  in  them  an  expression  of  suffer- 
ing, humility,  and  supplication  that  in  a  man  so 
proud  as  my  father  touched  me  deeply.  What- 
ever the  faults  he  found  it  so  hard  to  confess,  I 
felt  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  he  was 
fully  pardoned. 

Suddenly  his  eyes,  which  had  never  left  mine, 
were  fixed  in  an  astonished  stare,  vague  and  ter- 
rible. His  hand  stiffened  on  my  arm  ;  he  raised 
himself  in  his  chair,  then  drooped,  and  in  an 
instant  fell  heavily  on  the  floor.  He  was  dead. 

The  heart  does  not  reason  or  calculate.  That 
is  its  glory.  In  a  moment  I  had  divined  every- 
thing. One  minute  had  been  enough  to  show  me 
— all  at  once,  and  without  a  word  of  explanation — 
in  a  burst  of  irresistible  light,  the  fatal  truth  which 
a  thousand  things  daily  repeated  under  my  eyes 
had  never  made  me  suspect.  Ruin  was  here,  in 
this  house,  over  my  head.  Yet  I  do  not  think 

12 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

that  I  should  have  mourned  my  father  more  sin- 
cerely or  more  bitterly  if  he  had  left  me  loaded 
with  benefits.  With  my  regret  and  my  deep  sor- 
row there  was  mingled  a  pity,  strangely  poign- 
ant in  that  it  was  the  pity  of  a  son  for  his  father. 
That  beseeching,  humbled,  hopeless  look  haunted 
me.  Bitterly  I  regretted  that  I  had  not  been 
able  to  speak  a  word  of  consolation  to  that  heart 
before  it  broke !  Wildly  I  called  to  him  who 
could  no  longer  hear  me,  "  I  forgive  you,  I  for- 
give you."  My  God,  what  moments  were  these  ! 
As  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  guess,  my  mother, 
when  she  was  dying,  had  made  my  father  promise 
to  sell  the  greater  part  of  his  property  ;  to  pay  off 
the  whole  of  the  enormous  debt  he  had  incurred 
by  spending  every  year  a  third  more  than  his 
income,  and  to  live  solely  and  strictly  on  what  he 
had  left.  My  father  had  tried  to  keep  to  this 
engagement ;  he  had  sold  the  timber  and  part  of 
the  estate,  but  finding  himself  master  of  a  con- 
siderable capital,  he  had  applied  only  a  small  por- 
tion of  it  to  the  discharge  of  his  debts,  and  had 
attempted  to  restore  our  fortunes  by  staking  the 
remainder  in  the  hateful  chances  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
change. He  had  thus  completed  his  ruin.  I  have 
not  yet  sounded  the  depths  of  the  abyss  in  which 
we  are  engulfed.  A  week  after  my  father's  death 

13 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

I  was  taken  seriously  ill,  and  after  two  months  of 
suffering  I  was  only  just  able  to  leave  my  ancient 
home  on  the  day  that  a  stranger  took  possession 
of  it.  Fortunately  an  old  friend  of  my  mother's, 
who  lives  at  Paris,  and  who  formerly  acted  as 
notary  to  our  family,  has  come  to  my  help.  He 
has  offered  to  undertake  the  work  of  liquidation 
which  to  my  inexperienced  judgment  seemed  be- 
set with  unconquerable  difficulties.  I  left  the 
whole  business  to  him,  and  I  presume  that  now 
his  work  is  completed.  I  went  to  his  house  di- 
rectly I  arrived  yesterday  ;  he  was  in  the  country, 
and  will  not  return  till  to-morrow. 

These  have  been  two  cruel  days ;  uncertainty 
is  the  worst  of  all  evils,  because  it  is  the  only  one 
that  necessarily  stops  the  springs  of  action  and 
checks  our  courage.  I  should  have  been  very 
much  surprised  if,  ten  years  ago,  any  one  had  told 
me  that  the  old  notary,  whose  formal  language 
and  stiff  politeness  so  much  amused  my  father  and 
me,  would  one  day  be  the  oracle  from  whom  I 
should  await  the  supreme  sentence  of  my  destiny. 

I  do  my  best  to  guard  against  excessive  hopes  ; 
I  have  calculated  approximately  that,  after  paying 
all  the  debts,  we  should  have  a  hundred  and  twenty 
to  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  left.  A 
fortune  of  five  millions  should  leave  so  much  sal- 

14 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

vage  at  least.  I  intend  to  take  ten  thousand 
francs  and  seek  my  fortune  in  the  new  States  of 
America ;  the  rest  I  shall  resign  to  my  sister. 

Enough  of  writing  for  to-night.  Recalling 
such  memories  is  a  mournful  occupation.  Never- 
theless, I  feel  that  it  has  made  me  calmer.  Work 
is  surely  a  sacred  law,  since  even  the  lightest  task 
discharged  brings  a  certain  contentment  and  seren- 
ity. Yet  man  does  not  love  work  ;  he  cannot  fail 
to  see  its  good  effects ;  he  tastes  them  every  day, 
and  blesses  them,  and  each  day  he  comes  to  his 
work  with  the  same  reluctance.  I  think  that  is  a 
singular  and  mysterious  contradiction,  as  if  in  toil 
we  felt  at  once  a  chastisement,  and  the  divine  and 
fatherly  hand  of  the  chastiser. 

Thursday. 

When  I  woke  this  morning  a  letter  from  old 
M.  Laub£pin  was  brought  to  me.  He  invited  me 
to  dinner  and  apologized  for  taking  such  a  liberty. 
He  said  nothing  about  my  affairs.  I  augured 
unfavourably  from  this  silence. 

In  the  meantime  I  fetched  my  sister  from  her 
convent,  and  took  her  about  Paris.  The  child 
knows  nothing  of  our  ruin.  In  the  course  of  the 
day  she  had  some  rather  expensive  fancies.  She 
provided  herself  liberally  with  gloves,  pink 

15 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

paper,  bonbons  for  her  friends,  delicate  scents, 
special  soaps,  and  tiny  pencils,  all  very  necessary 
useful  things,  but  not  as  necessary  as  a  dinner. 
May  she  never  have  to  realize  this ! 

At  six  o'clock  I  was  at  M.  Laube"pin's  in  the 
Rue  Cassette.  I  do  not  know  our  old  friend's 
age,  but  to-day  I  found  him  looking  just  the  same 
as  ever — tall  and  thin,  with'  a  little  stoop,  untidy 
white  hair,  and  piercing  eyes  under  bushy  black 
eyebrows — altogether  a  face  at  once  strong  and 
subtle.  I  recognised  the  unvarying  costume,  the 
old-fashioned  black  coat,  the  professional  white 
cravat,  the  family  diamond  in  the  shirt-frill — in 
short,  all  the  outward  signs  of  a  serious,  method- 
ical, and  conservative  nature.  The  old  gentle- 
man was  waiting  for  me  at  the  open  door  of  his 
little  salon.  After  making  me  a  low  bow,  he  took 
my  hand  lightly  between  two  of  his  fingers  and 
conducted  me  to  a  homely  looking  old  lady  who 
was  standing  by  the  fire-place. 

"The  Marquis  de  Champcey  d'Hauterive  ! " 
said  M.  Laube"pin,  in  his  strong,  rich,  and  em- 
phatic voice,  and  turning  quickly  to  me,  added 
in  a  humbler  tone,  "  Mme.  Laube"pin  !" 

We  sat  down.  An  awkward  silence  ensued. 
I  had  expected  an  immediate  explanation  of  my 
position.  Seeing  that  this  was  to  be  postponed, 

16 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

I  assumed  at  once  that  it  was  unfavourable,  an 
assumption  confirmed  by  the  discreet  and  com- 
passionate glances  with  which  Mme.  Laube'pin 
furtively  honoured  me.  As  for  M.  Laube'pin,  he 
observed  me  with  a  remarkable  attention  not 
altogether  kindly.  My  father,  I  remember,  always 
maintained  that  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  and 
under  his  respectful  manner  the  ceremonious  old 
scrivener  had  a  little  of  bourgeois  democratic  and 
even  Jacobin  leaven.  It  seemed  to  me  that  this 
leaven  was  working  just  now,  and  that  the  old 
man  found  some  satisfaction  for  his  secret  antip- 
athies in  the  spectacle  of  a  gentleman  under  tor- 
ture. In  spite  of  my  real  depression,  I  began  to 
talk  at  once,  trying  to  appear  quite  unconcerned. 

"So,  M.  Laub£pin,"  I  said,  "you've  left  the 
Place  des  Petits- Peres,  the  dear  old  Place.  How 
could  you  bring  yourself  to  do  it  ?  I  would  never 
have  believed  it  of  you." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  marquis,"  replied  M.  Laube'pin, 
"  I  must  admit  that  it  is  an  infidelity  unbecoming 
at  my  age  ;  but  in  giving  up  the  practice  I  had  to 
give  up  my  chambers  as  well,  for  one  can't  carry 
off  a  notary's  plate  as  one  can  a  sign-board." 

"  But  you  still  undertake  some  business?" 

"  Yes,  in  a  friendly  way,  marquis.  Some  of 
the  honourable  families,  the  important  families, 

I  3— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

whose  confidence  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
secure  in  the  course  of  forty-five  years  of  practice, 
are  still  glad,  especially  in  situations  of  unusual 
delicacy,  to  have  the  benefit  of  my  experience, 
and  I  believe  I  may  say  they  rarely  regret  having 
followed  my  advice." 

As  M.  Laubepin  finished  this  testimonial  to 
his  own  merits,  an  old  servant  came  in  and 
announced  that  dinner  was  served.  It  was  my 
privilege  to  conduct  Mme.  Laubepin  into  the 
adjacent  dining-room.  Throughout  the  meal  the 
conversation  never  rose  above  the  most  ordinary 
commonplaces.  M.  Laubepin  continued  to  look 
at  me  in  the  same  penetrating  and  ambiguous 
manner,  while  Mme.  Laube*pin  offered  me  each 
dish  in  the  mournful  and  compassionate  tone  we 
use  at  the  bedside  of  an  invalid.  In  time  we  left 
the  table,  and  the  old  notary  took  me  into  his 
study,  where  coffee  was  served  immediately.  He 
made  me  sit  down,  and  standing  before  the  fire- 
place, began  : 

"  Marquis,"  he  said,  "  you  have  done  me  the 
honour  of  intrusting  to  me  the  administration 
of  the  estate  of  your  father,  the  late  Marquis 
de  Champcey  d'Hauterive.  Yesterday  I  was 
about  to  write  to  you,  when  I  learned  of  your 
arrival  in  Paris.  This  enables  me  to  convey  to 

18 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

you,  vivd  voce,  the  result  of  my  zeal  and  of  my 
action." 

"  I  foresee,  M.  Laubdpin,  that  the  result  is  not 
favourable." 

"  Marquis,  it  is  not  favourable,  and  you  will 
need  all  your  courage  to  bear  it.  But  it  is  my 
rule  to  proceed  methodically. — In  the  year  1820 
Mile.  Louise  Helene  Dugald  Delatouche  d'Erou- 
ville  was  sought  in  marriage  by  Charles-Christian 
Odiot,  Marquis  de  Champcey  d'Hauterive.  A  tra- 
dition a  century  old  had  placed  the  management 
of  the  Dugald  Delatouche  affairs  in  my  hands,  and 
I  was  further  permitted  a  respectful  intimacy  with 
the  young  heiress  of  the  house.  I  thought  it  my 
duty,  therefore,  to  oppose  her  infatuation  by  every 
argument  in  my  power  and  to  dissuade  her  from 
this  deplorable  alliance.  I  say  deplorable  alliance 
without  reference  to  M.  de  Champcey's  fortune, 
which  was  nearly  equal  to  that  of  Mile.  Dela- 
touche, though  even  at  this  time  he  had  mort- 
gaged it  to  some  extent.  I  say  so  because  I  knew 
his  character  and  temperament,  which  were  in  the 
main  hereditary.  Under  the  fascinating  and  chiv- 
alrous 'manner  common  to  all  of  his  race  I  saw 
clearly  the  heedless  obstinacy,  the  incurable  irre- 
sponsibility, the  mania  for  pleasure,  and,  finally, 
the  pitiless  selfishness." 

19 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Sir,"  I  interrupted  sharply,  "  my  father's 
memory  is  sacred  to  me,  and  so  it  must  be  to 
every  one  who  speaks  of  him  in  my  presence." 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  old  man  with  a  sudden  and 
violent  emotion,  "  I  respect  that  sentiment,  but 
when  I  speak  of  your  father  I  find  it  hard  to  for- 
get that  he  was  the  man  who  killed  your  mother, 
that  heroic  child,  that  saint,  that  angel ! " 

I  had  risen  in  great  agitation.  M.  Laube"pin, 
who  had  taken  a  few  steps  across  the  room,  seized 
my  arm.  "  Forgive  me,  young  man,"  he  said  to 
me.  "  I  loved  your  mother  and  wept  for  her. 
You  must  forgive  me."  Then  returning  to  the 
fire-place,  he  continued  in  his  usual  solemn 
tone  : 

"  I  had  the  honour  and  the  pain  of  drawing  up 
your  mother's  marriage  contract. 

"  In  spite  of  my  remonstrance,  the  strict  settle- 
ment of  her  property  upon  herself  had  not  been 
adopted,  and  it  was  only  with  much  difficulty  that 
I  got  included  in  the  deed  a  protective  clause  by 
which  about  a  third  of  your  mother's  estate  could 
not  be  sold,  except  with  her  consent  duly  and 
legally  authenticated.  A  useless  precaution,  mar- 
quis ;  I  might  call  it  the  cruel  precaution  of  an 
ill-advised  friendship.  This  fatal  clause  brought 
most  intolerable  sufferings  to  the  very  person 

20 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

whose  peace  it  was  intended  to  secure.  I  refer  to 
the  disputes  and  quarrels  and  wrangles  the  echo 
of  which  must  sometimes  have  reached  your  ears, 
and  in  which,  bit  by  bit,  your  mother's  last  her- 
itage— her  children's  bread — was  torn  from  her  ! " 

"  Spare  me,  M.  Laube*pin  ! " 

"  I  obey.  ...  I  will  speak  only  of  the  present. 
Directly  I  was  honoured  with  your  confidence, 
marquis,  my  first  duty  was  to  advise  you  not  to 
accept  the  encumbered  estate  unless  after  paying 
all  liabilities." 

"  Such  a  course  seemed  to  cast  a  slur  on  my 
father's  memory,  and  I  could  not  adopt  it." 

M.  Laub£pin  darted  one  of  his  inquisitorial 
glances  at  me,  and  continued  : 

"  You  are  apparently  aware  that  by  not  having 
availed  yourself  of  this  perfectly  legal  method, 
you  became  responsible  for  all  liabilities,  even  if 
they  exceed  the  value  of  the  estate  itself.  And 
that,  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  tell  you,  is  the  case 
in  the  present  instance.  You  will  see  by  these 
documents  that  after  getting  exceptionally  favour- 
able terms  for  the  town-house,  you  and  your  sister 
are  still  indebted  to  your  father's  creditors  to  the 
amount  of  .forty-five  thousand  francs." 

I  was  utterly  stunned  by  this  news,  which  far 
exceeded  my  worst  apprehensions.  For  a  minute 

21 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

I  stared  at  the  clock  without  seeing  the  hour  it 
marked,  and  listened  dazed  to  the  monotonous 
sound  of  the  pendulum. 

"  Now,"  continued  M.  Laube*pin,  after  a  si- 
lence, "  the  moment  has  come  to  tell  you,  mar- 
quis, that  your  mother,  in  view  of  contingencies 
which  are  unfortunately  realized  to-day,  deposited 
with  me  some  jewels  which  are  valued  at  about 
fifty  thousand  francs.  To  exempt  this  small  sum, 
now  your  sole  resource,  from  the  claims  of  the 
creditors  of  the  estate,  we  can,  I  believe,  make  use 
of  the  legal  resource  which  I  shall  have  the  honour 
of  submitting  to  you." 

41  That  will  not  be  necessary,  M.  Laube"pin.  I 
am  only  too  glad  to  be  able,  through  this  unex- 
pected means,  to  pay  my  father's  debts  in  full,  and 
I  beg  you  to  devote  it  to  that  purpose." 

M.  Laube*pin  bowed  slightly. 

"  As  you  wish,  marquis,"  he  said,  "  but  I  must 
point  out  to  you  that  when  this  deduction  has 
been  made,  the  joint  fortune  of  Mile.  Helene  and 
yourself  will  consist  of  something  like  four  or  five 
thousand  livres,  which,  at  the  present  rate  of  in- 
terest, will  give  you  an  income  of  two  hundred 
and  twenty-five  francs.  That  being  so,  may  I 
venture  to  ask  in  a  confidential,  friendly,  and  re- 
spectful way  whether  you  have  thought  of  any 

22 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

way  of  providing  for  your  own  existence  and  for 
that  of  your  ward  and  sister?  And,  generally, 
what  your  plans  are  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  frankly  I  have  none.  Whatever 
plans  I  may  have  had  are  quite  impossible  in  the 
state  of  destitution  to  which  I  am  now  reduced. 
If  I  were  alone  in  the  world  I  should  enlist,  but  I 
have  my  sister,  and  I  cannot  endure  the  thought 
of  seeing  the  poor  child  subjected  to  toil  and  pri- 
vations. She  is  happy  in  the  convent  and  young 
enough  to  stay  there  some  years  longer.  I  would 
gladly  accept  any  employment  which  would  enable 
me,  by  the  strictest  personal  economy,  to  pay  her 
expenses  each  year  and  provide  for  her  dowry  in 
the  future." 

M.  Laube*pin  looked  hard  at  me. 

"  At  your  age,  marquis,  you  must  not  expect," 
he  replied,  "to  achieve  that  praiseworthy  object 
by  entering  the  slow  ranks  of  public  officials  and 
governmental  functionaries.  You  require  an  ap- 
pointment which  will  assure  you  from  the  outset 
a  yearly  revenue  of  five  or  six  thousand  francs. 
And  I  must  also  tell  you  that  this  desideratum 
is  not,  in  the  present  state  of  our  social  organiza- 
tion, to  be  obtained  by  simply  holding  out  your 
hand.  Happily,  I  am  in  a  position  to  make  some 
propositions  to  you  which  are  likely  to  modify 

23 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

your  present   situation    immediately  and  without 
much  trouble." 

M.  Laube"pin  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  more  pene- 
tratingly than  ever. 

"In  the  first  place,  marquis,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
am  the  mouthpiece  of  a  clever,  rich,  and  influen- 
tial speculator.  This  personage  has  originated 
an  idea  for  an  important  undertaking,  the  nature 
of  which  will  be  explained  to  you  at  a  later 
period.  Its  success  largely  depends  on  the  co- 
operation of  the  aristocracy  of  this  country.  He 
believes  that  an  old  and  illustrious  name  like 
yours,  marquis,  appearing  among  the  originators 
of  the  enterprise,  would  have  great  weight  with 
the  special  public  to  whom  the  prospectus  will 
be  addressed.  In  return  for  this  service,  he  en- 
gages to  hand  over  to  you  a  certain  number  of 
fully  paid-up  shares,  which  are  now  valued  at  ten 
thousand  francs,  and  which  will  be  worth  two  or 
three  times  that  amount  when  the  affair  is  well 
launched.  In  addition,  he " 

"That  is  enough,  M.  Laube*pin.  Such  in- 
famies are  unworthy  of  the  trouble  you  take 
in  mentioning  them." 

For  a  moment  I  saw  his  eyes  flash  and  sparkle. 
The  stiff  folds  in  his  face  relaxed  as  he  smiled 
faintly. 

24 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  If  you  do  not  approve  of  this  proposition, 
marquis,"  he  said  unctuously,  "neither  do  I. 
However,  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  submit 
it  for  your  consideration.  Here  is  another,  which, 
perhaps,  will  please  you  more,  and  which  is  really 
more  attractive.  One  of  my  oldest  clients  is  a 
worthy  merchant  who  has  lately  retired  from  busi- 
ness, and  now  passes  his  life  with  an  only  and 
much-loved  daughter,  in  the  quiet  enjoyment  of 
an  aurea  mediocritas  of  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  a  year.  Two  or  three  days  ago  my  client's 
daughter,  by  some  accident,  heard  of  your  posi- 
tion. I  thought  it  right  —  indeed,  to  speak 
frankly,  I  was  at  some  trouble — to  ascertain  that 
the  young  lady  would  not  hesitate  for  a  moment 
to  accept  the  title  of  Marquise  de  Champcey. 
Her  appearance  is  agreeable,  and  she  has  many 
excellent  qualities.  Her  father  approves.  I  await 
only  a  word  from  you,  marquis,  to  tell  you  the 
name  and  residence  of  this  interesting  family." 

"  M.  Laubdpin,  this  quite  decides  me ;  from 
to-morrow  I  shall  cease  to  use  a  title  which  is 
ridiculous  for  one  in  my  position,  and  which,  it 
seems,  makes  me  the  object  of  the  most  paltry 
intrigues,  My  family  name  is  Odiot,  and  hence- 
forth I  shall  use  no  other.  And  now,  though  I 
recognise  gratefully  the  keen  interest  in  my  wel- 

25 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

fare  which  has  induced  you  to  be  the  channel  of 
such  remarkable  propositions,  I  must  beg  you  to 
spare  me  any  others  of  a  like  character." 

"  In  that  case,  marquis,  I  have  absolutely 
nothing  more  to  tell  you,"  said  M.  Laube*pin,  and, 
as  if  suddenly  taken  with  a  fit  of  joviality,  he 
rubbed  his  hands  together  with  a  noise  like  the 
crackling  of  parchment 

"  You  ^re  a  difficult  man  to  place,  M.  Max- 
ime,"  he  added,  smiling.  "  Oh,  very  difficult ! 
It  is  remarkable  that  I  should  not  have  already 
noticed  your  striking  likeness  to  your  mother, 
particularly  your  eyes  and  your  smile  .  .  .  but 
we  must  not  digress ;  and,  since  you  are  resolved 
to  maintain  yourself  by  honest  work,  may  I  ask 
what  are  your  talents  and  qualifications  ?  " 

"  My  education,  monsieur,  was  naturally  that 
of  a  man  destined  for  a  life  of  wealth  and  ease. 
However,  I  have  studied  law,  and  am  nominally 
a  barrister." 

"  A  barrister !  The  devil  you  are !  But  the 
name  is  not  enough.  At  the  bar,  more  than  in 
any  other  career,  everything  depends  on  personal 
effort ;  and  now — let  us  see — do  you  speak  well, 
marquis?" 

"  So  badly  that  I  believe  I  am  incapable  of 
putting  two  sentences  together  in  public." 

26 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  H'm  !  Scarcely  what  one  could  call  a  heaven- 
born  orator.  You  must  try  something  else ;  but 
the  matter  requires  more  careful  consideration. 
I  see  you  are  tired,  marquis.  Here  are  your 
papers,  which  you  can  examine  at  your  leisure. 
I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  farewell.  Allow 
me  to  light  you  down.  A  moment — am  I  to 
await  your  further  instructions  before  applying 
the  value  of  those  jewels  to  the  payment  of  your 
creditors  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  no  means.  But  I  should  wish  you 
rather  to  deduct  a  just  remuneration  for  your 
kind  exertions." 

We  had  reached  the  landing  of  the  staircase ; 
M.  Laube*pin,  who  stooped  a  little  as  he  walked, 
sharply  straightened  himself. 

"  So  far  as  your  creditors  are  concerned,"  he 
said,  "you  may  count  upon  my  obedience,  mar- 
quis. As  to  me,  I  was  your  mother's  friend,  and 
I  beg  humbly  but  earnestly  that  her  son  will 
treat  me  as  a  friend." 

I  gave  my  hand  to  the  old  gentleman  ;  he 
shook  it  warmly  and  we  parted. 

Back  in  the  little  room  I  now  occupy,  under 
the  roof  of  the  hotel,  which  is  mine  no  longer,  I 
wished  to  convince  myself  that  the  full  knowl- 
edge of  my  misery  had  not  depressed  me  to  a 

2; 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

degree  unworthy  of  a  man.  So  I  have  sat  down 
to  write  an  account  of  this  decisive  day  of  my 
life,  endeavouring  to  preserve  exactly  the  phrase- 
ology of  the  old  notary,  a  mixture  of  stiffness  and 
courtesy,  of  mistrust  and  kind  feeling,  which  more 
than  once  made  me  smile,  though  my  heart  was 
bleeding. 

I  am  face  to  face  with  poverty.  Not  the 
haughty,  hidden,  and  poetic  poverty  that  among 
forests  and  deserts  and  savannas  fired  my  imagi- 
nation, but  actual  misery,  need,  dependence, 
humiliation,  and  something  worse  even — the  pov- 
erty of  the  rich  man  who  has  fallen  ;  poverty  in  a 
decent  coat ;  the  poverty  that  hides  its  ungloved 
hands  from  the  former  friends  it  passes  in  the 
street.  Come,  brother,  courage,  courage  .  .  .  ! 

Monday,  April  27 th. 

For  five  days  I  have  been  waiting  in  vain  for 
news  of  M.  Laubepin.  I  had  counted  consider- 
ably on  the  interest  that  he  had  appeared  to  feel 
in  me.  His  experience,  his  business  connections, 
and  the  number  of  people  he  knows,  would 
enable  him  to  be  of  service  to  me.  I  was  ready 
to  take  all  necessary  steps  under  his  direction, 
but,  left  to  myself,  I  do  not  know  which  way  to 
turn.  I  thought  he  was  one  of  the  men  who 

28 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

promise  little  and  do  much.  I  am  afraid  that 
I  have  been  mistaken.  This  morning  I  deter- 
mined to  go  to  his  house  on  the  pretext  of  return- 
ing the  papers  he  had  given  me,  after  verifying 
their  dreary  exactitude.  I  was  told  that  he  had 
gone  to  enjoy  a  taste  of  country  life  at  some 
chateau  in  the  heart  of  Brittany.  He  would  be 
away  two  or  three  days  longer.  I  was  completely 
taken  aback.  I  had  not  only  the  pain  of  finding 
indifference  and  desertion  where  I  had  looked  for 
the  readiness  of  devoted  friendship,  I  had,  in  addi- 
tion, the  bitter  disappointment  of  returning,  as 
I  went,  with  an  empty  purse.  I  had,  in  fact, 
intended  to  ask  M.  Laube"pin  to  advance  me 
some  money  from  the  three  or  four  thousand 
francs  due  to  us  after  full  payment  of  our  debts. 
In  vain  have  I  lived  like  an  anchorite  since  I 
came  to  Paris.  The  small  sum  I  had  reserved 
for  my  journey  is  completely  exhausted — so 
completely  that,  after  making  a  truly  pastoral 
breakfast  this  morning — castanece  molles  et  pressi 
copia  lactis — I  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  a 
kind  of  trickery  for  my  dinner  to-night.  I  will 
make  melancholy  record  of  it  here. 

The  less  one  has  had  for  breakfast,  the  more 
one  wants  for  dinner.  I  had  felt  all  the  force  of 
this  axiom  long  before  the  sun  had  finished  its 

29 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

course.  Among  the  strollers  whom  the  mild  air 
had  attracted  to  the  Tuileries  this  afternoon  to 
watch  the  first  smiles  of  spring  playing  on  the 
faces  of  the  marble  fauns,  the  observant  might 
have  noted  a  young  man  of  irreproachable  appear- 
ance who  seemed  to  study  the  awakening  of 
nature  with  extraordinary  interest.  Not  satisfied 
with  devouring  the  fresh  verdure  with  his  eyes, 
he  would  furtively  detach  the  young,  appetizing 
shoots  and  the  half -opened  leaves  from  their 
stems,  and  put  them  to  his  lips  with  the  curiosity 
of  a  botanist.  I  convinced  myself  in  this  way 
that  this  form  of  nourishment,  suggested  by 
accounts  of  shipwrecks,  is  of  very  little  value. 
Still,  I  enriched  my  experience  with  some  inter- 
esting discoveries ;  for  instance,  I  know  now  that 
the  foliage  of  the  chestnut  has  an  exceedingly 
bitter  taste  ;  that  the  rose  is  not  unpleasant ;  that 
the  lime  is  oily  and  rather  agreeable  ;  the  lilac 
pungent — and  I  believe  unwholesome. 

Meditating  on  these  discoveries,  I  walked 
towards  Helene's  convent.  I  found  the  parlour 
as  crowded  as  a  hive,  and  I  was  more  than  usu- 
ally bewildered  by  the  tumultuous  confidences  of 
the  young  bees.  Helene  arrived,  her  hair  in  dis- 
order, her  cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  red  and  spark- 
ling. In  her  hand  she  had  a  piece  of  bread  as 

30 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

long  as  her  arm.  As  she  embraced  me  in  an 
absent  way,  I  asked  : 

"  Well,  little  girl,  what  is  the  matter?  You've 
been  crying." 

"  No,  Maxime,  no,  it's  nothing." 

"Well,  what  is  it  ?     Now  tell  me.  .  .  ." 

In  a  lower  tone  she  said  : 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  miserable,  dear  Maxime  ! " 

"  Really  ?  Tell  me  all  about  it  while  you  eat 
your  bread." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  certainly  not  eat  my  bread.  I  am 
too  miserable  to  eat.  You  know  Lucy — Lucy 
Campbell,  my  dearest  friend.  Well,  we've  quar- 
relled completely." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  Don't  worry,  darling,  you'll 
make  it  up.  It  will  be  all  right,  dear." 

"  Oh,  Maxime,  that's  impossible.  It  was  such 
a  serious  quarrel.  It  was  nothing  at  first,  but  you 
know  one  gets  excited  and  loses  one's  head. 
Listen,  Maxime  !  We  were  playing  battledore,  and 
Lucy  made  a  mistake  about  the  score.  I  was  six 
hundred  and  eighty,  and  she  was  only  six  hundred 
and  fifteen,  and  she  declared  she  was  six  hundred 
and  sixty-five  !  You  must  say  that  was  a  little 
too  bad.  Of  course  I  said  my  figure  was  right, 
and  she  said  hers  was.  '  Well,  mademoiselle,'  I 
;said  to  her,  '  let  us  ask  these  young  ladies.  I 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

appeal  to  them.'  '  No,  mademoiselle/  she  replied, 
*  I  am  sure  I  am  right,  and  you  don't  play  fair.' 
'And — and  you,  mademoiselle/  I  said  to  her — 
'  you  are  a  liar  ! '  '  Very  well,  mademoiselle/ 
she  said  then,  '  I  despise  you  too  much  to  answer 
you.'  Just  at  that  moment  Sister  Sainte-Fe"lix 
came  up,  which  was  a  good  thing,  for  I  am 
sure  I  should  have  hit  her.  Now,  you  know 
what  happened.  Can  we  possibly  make  it  up  ? 
No,  it  is  impossible ;  it  would  be  cowardly. 
But  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  suffer.  I  don't  be- 
lieve there's  any  one  in  the  world  so  miserable 
as  I  am." 

"  Yes,  dear,  it's  difficult  to  imagine  anything 
more  distressing  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
partly  brought  it  on  yourself,  for  it  was  you  who 
used  the  most  offensive  word.  Tell  me,  is  Lucy 
in  the  parlour  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  she  is,  in  the  corner." 

With  a  dignified  and  careful  movement  of  her 
head  she  indicated  a  very  fair  little  girl.  Her 
cheeks,  too,  were  flushed,  and  her  eyes  were  red. 
Apparently  she  was  giving  an  account  of  the 
drama,  which  Sister  Sainte-Fe"lix  had  so  fortu- 
nately interrupted,  to  an  old  lady  who  was  listen- 
ing attentively. 

Mile.  Lucy,  while  she  talked  with  an  earnest- 

32 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

ness  appropriate  to  the  subject,  kept  looking 
furtively  at  He"Jene  and  me. 

"  Dear  child,"  I  said  to  He*lene,  "  do  you  trust 
me?" 

"  Yes,  Maxime,  I  trust  you  very  much." 

"In  that  case  I  will"  tell  you  what  to  do.  Go 
very  gently  behind  Mile.  Lucy's  chair  ;  take  her 
head  in  your  hands — like  this,  when  she  is  not 
looking — and  kiss  her  on  both  cheeks — like  this, 
with  all  your  might — and  then  you  will  see  what 
she  will  do  in  her  turn." 

For  a  second  or  two  He*lene  seemed  to  hesi- 
tate ;  then  she  set  off  at  a  great  rate,  fell  like  a 
thunder-clap  on  Mile.  Campbell,  but  nevertheless 
gave  her  the  sweetest  of  surprises.  The  two 
young  sufferers,  at  last  eternally  united,  mingled 
their  tears  in  a  touching  group,  while  the  respect- 
able old  Mrs.  Campbell  blew  her  nose  with  a  noise 
as  of  a  bagpipe. 

Helene  came  back  to  me  radiant. 

"  Well,  dear,"  I  said,  "  I  hope  you're  going  to 
eat  your  bread  now." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  can't,  Maxime.  I  am  too  much 
excited,  and — besides,  I  must  tell  you — to-day  a 
new  pupil  came  and  gave  us  quite  a  feast  of 
meringues,  e*clairs,  and  chocolate-creams,  and  I  am 
not  a  bit  hungry.  And  I  am  in  a  great  difficulty 

33 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

about  it,  because  when  we're  not  hungry  we  have 
to  put  our  bread  back  in  the  basket,  and  in  my 
trouble  I  forgot,  and  I  shall  be  punished.  But, 
Maxime,  as  we're  crossing  the  court  when  you  go, 
I  shall  try  to  drop  it  down  the  cellar  without  any 
one  seeing." 

"  What,  little  sister  !  "  I  said,  colouring  a  little, 
"you  are  going  to  waste  that  large  piece  of 
bread  ? " 

"  It  isn't  good  of  me  I  know,  because,  perhaps, 
there  are  poor  people  who  would  be  very  glad  of 
it,  aren't  there,  Maxime  ?  " 

"  There  certainly  are,  dear." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  The  poor 
people  don't  come  in  here." 

"  Look  here,  Helene,  give  me  the  bread,  and 
I'll  give  it  in  your  name  to  the  first  poor  man  I 
meet.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ! " 

The  bell  rang  for  school.  I  broke  the  bread  in 
two  and  hid  the  pieces  shamefacedly  in  my  great- 
coat pockets. 

"Dear  Maxime,"  said  my  sister,  "you'll  come 
again  soon,  won't  you  ?  Then  you'll  tell  me 
whether  you  met  a  poor  man  and  gave  him  my 
bread,  and  whether  he  liked  it  ?  Good-bye, 
Maxime." 

34 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Yes,  He*lene,  I  met  a  poor  man  and  gave  him 
your  bread,  which  he  seized  and  carried  off  to  his 
solitary  garret,  and  he  liked  it.  But  this  poor 
man  had  not  courage,  for  he  wept  as  he  ate  the 
food  that  had  come  from  your  dear  little  hands. 
I  will  tell  you  all  this,  He*lene,  because  it  is  good 
for  you  to  know  that  there  are  sufferings  more 
serious  than  your  childish  woes.  I  will  tell  you 
everything,  except  the  name  of  the  poor  man." 

Tuesday,  April  s8th. 

At  nine  o'clock  this  morning  I  called  at  M. 
Laubepin's  in  the  vague  hope  that  he  might  have 
returned  earlier  than  he  intended,  but  he  is  not 
expected  until  to-morrow.  I  thought  at  once  of 
seeing  Mme.  Laube*pin  and  explaining  the  awk- 
ward position  I  was  placed  in  through  her  hus- 
band's absence.  While  I  hesitated  in  a  conflict  of 
shame  and  necessity,  the  old  servant,  alarmed,  per- 
haps, by  my  hungry  gaze,  settled  the  question  by 
suddenly  shutting  the  door.  I  made  up  my  mind 
hereupon  to  fast  until  the  next  day.  After  all,  I 
said  to  myself,  a  day's  abstinence  does  not  kill 
one.  If  this  shov/ed  an  excessive  pride,  at  all 
events  I  was  the  only  one  to  suffer,  and  conse- 
quently it  concerned  no  one  but  myself.  I  ac- 
cordingly made  my  way  to  the  Sorbonne,  where  I 

35 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

attended  several  lectures,  trying  to  fill  up  my  cor- 
poreal vacuum  by  spiritual  sustenance.  But  when 
this  resource  came  to  an  end  I  found  it  had  been 
quite  inadequate.  And  I  had  an  attack  of  ner- 
vous irritation  which  I  tried  to  calm  by  walking. 
It  was  a  cold,  misty  day.  As  I  crossed  the  Pont 
des  Saints-Peres  I  stopped  for  a  minute  in  spite 
of  myself.  Leaning  on  the  parapet,  I  watched 
the  troubled  water  rushing  under  the  arches.  I 
know  not  what  unholy  thoughts  shot  through  my 
worn  and  weakened  brain.  I  saw  in  the  gloomiest 
colours  a  future  of  ceaseless  struggle,  of  depend- 
ence, and  of  humiliation,  which  I  was  approaching 
by  the  dark  gate  of  hunger  ;  I  felt  a  profound  and 
utter  disgust  of  life  ;  it  seemed  impossible  to  me 
under  such  conditions.  At  the  same  time  a  flame 
of  fierce  and  brutal  anger  leaped  up  in  me. 
Dazed  and  reeling,  I  hung  over  the  void,  and  saw 
all  the  river  glittering  with  sparks  of  fire. 

I  will  not  say,  as  is  usual,  God  would  not  have 
it  so.  I  hate  these  cant  phrases,  and  I  dare  to  say 
/would  not.  God  has  made  us  free,  and  if  ever 
before  I  had  doubted  it,  this  supreme  moment— 
when  soul  and  body,  courage  and  cowardice,  good 
and  evil,  held  mortal  combat  within  me — would 
have  swept  my  doubts  away  forever. 

Master  of  myself  again,  those  terrible  waves 

36 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

only  suggested  an  innocent,  and  rather  absurd 
longing  to  quench  the  thirst  that  tortured  me.  I 
soon  remembered  that  I  should  find  much  purer 
water  in  my  room  at  home.  I  went  quickly  to- 
wards the  hdtel,  imagining  that  the  most  delicious 
pleasures  awaited  me  there.  With  pathetic  child- 
ishness I  delighted  in  this  glorious  device,  and 
wondered  I  had  not  thought  of  it  sooner.  On 
the  boulevard  I  suddenly  came  face  to  face  with 
Gaston  de  Vaux,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  two 
years.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  stopped, 
grasped  my  hand  cordially,  said  a  word  or  two 
about  my  travels,  and  left  me  hurriedly.  But  he 
turned  back. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said  to  me,  "you  must  allow 
me  to  let  you  share  a  piece  of  good  luck  I've  just 
had.  I  have  put  my  hand  on  a  treasure ;  I  have 
got  some  cigars  which  cost  me  two  francs  each, 
but  really  they  are  beyond  price.  Here's  one ; 
you  must  tell  me  how  you  like  it.  Au  revoir, 
old  man  ! " 

Wearily  I  mounted  the  six  flights  to  my  room, 
and  trembling  with  emotion,  I  seized  my  friendly 
water-bottle  and  swallowed  the  contents  in  small 
mouthfuls.  Afterward  I  lighted  my  friend's 
cigar,  and  smiled  encouragement  at  myself  in  the 
glass.  Feeling  that  movement  and  the  distraction 

37 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

of  the  streets  were  good  for  me,  I  went  out  again 
directly.  Opening  my  door,  I  was  surprised  and 
annoyed  to  see  the  wife  of  the  concierge  of  the 
hdtel  standing  in  the  narrow  corridor.  My  sud- 
den appearance  seemed  to  disconcert  her.  This 
woman  had  formerly  been  in  my  mother's  service, 
and  had  become  a  favourite  with  her,  and  when 
she  married,  my  mother  had  given  her  the  profit- 
able post  she  still  held.  For  some  days  I  had  an 
idea  that  she  was  watching  me,  and  now,  having 
nearly  caught  her  in  the  act,  I  asked  her  roughly 
what  she  wanted. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  M.  Maxime,  nothing,"  she  re- 
plied, much  confused.  "  I  was  seeing  to  the  gas." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  went  away. 

Night  was  falling,  so  I  could  walk  about  in  the 
more  frequented  places  without  being  fearful  of 
awkward  recognitions.  I  was  obliged  to  throw 
away  my  cigar — it  made  me  feel  sick.  My  prom- 
enade lasted  two  or  three  hours,  and  painful  hours 
they  were.  There  is  something  peculiarly  poign- 
ant in  feeling  oneself  attacked,  in  the  midst  of 
the  brilliance  and  plenty  of  civilization,  by  the 
scourge  of  savage  life — hunger.  It  brings  you 
near  to  madness.  It's  a  tiger  springing  at  your 
throat  in  the  middle  of  the  boulevards. 

I  made  some  original  reflections.  Hunger, 
38 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

after  all,  is  not  an  empty  word.  There  actually 
is  a  complaint  of  that  name,  and  there  are  human 
beings  who  endure  nearly  every  day  what  through 
a  mere  accident  I  am  suffering  for  once  in  my  life. 
And  how  many  have  their  misery  embittered  by 
troubles  which  I  am  spared !  I  know  that  the 
one  being  in  the  world  whom  I  love  is  sheltered 
from  such  sufferings  as  mine.  But  how  many 
cannot  suffer  alone ;  how  many  must  hear  the 
heart-rending  cry  of  nature  repeated  on  beloved 
lips  that  ask  for  food ;  how  many  for  whom  pale 
women  and  unsmiling  children  are  waiting  in  bare 
cold  rooms  !  Poor  creatures !  Blessed  be  holy 
charity  ! 

After  these  thoughts  I  dared  not  complain ; 
they  gave  me  courage  to  bear  my  trial  to  the  end. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  I  could  have  shortened  it. 
There  are  two  or  three  restaurants  where  I  am 
known,  and  where,  when  I  was  rich,  I  had  often 
gone  in  without  hesitation,  though  I  had  forgotten 
to  bring  my  purse.  I  might  have  made  some 
such  pretext.  Nor  would  it  have  been  difficult 
for  me  to  borrow  a  franc  or  two  in  Paris.  But  I 
recoiled  from  such  expedients.  They  suggested 
poverty  too  plainly,  and  they  came  too  near  to 
trickery.  That  descent  is  swift  and  slippery  for 
the  poor,  and  I  believe  I  would  rather  lose  honesty 

39 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

itself  than  the  delicacy  which  gives  distinction  to 
the  commonplace  virtue.  I  have  seen  too  often 
with  what  facility  this  exquisite  sentiment  of 
honesty  loses  its  bloom,  even  in  the  finest  natures, 
not  merely  under  the  breath  of  misery,  but  at  the 
slightest  contact  with  privation.  So  I  shall  keep 
strict  watch  over  myself.  I  shall  be  on  my  guard 
henceforth  against  even  the  most  innocent  com- 
promise with  conscience.  When  bad  times  come, 
do  not  accustom  your  soul  to  suppleness ;  it  is 
only  too  prone  to  yield. 

Fatigue  and  cold  drove  me  back  about  nine 
o'clock.  The  door  of  the  hdtel  was  open.  Tread- 
ing as  lightly  as  a  ghost,  I  had  reached  the  stair- 
case when  the  sound  of  a  lively  conversation  came 
from  the  concierge's  room.  They  were  talking 
about  me,  for  at  this  very  moment  the  tyrant  of 
the  house  pronounced  my  name  with  unmistak- 
able contempt. 

"  Be  good  enough,  Mme.  Vauberger,"  said 
the  concierge,  "  not  to  trouble  me  with  your 
Maxime.  Did  I  ruin  your  Maxime  ?  Then  what 
are  you  talking  to  me  about  ?  If  he  kills  himself, 
they'll  bury  him,  won't  they  ?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Vauberger,"  his  wife  answered, 
11  it  would  have  made  your  heart  bleed  to  see  him 
drain  his  water-bottle.  And  if  I  believed  you 

40 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

meant  what  you  say  in  that  offhand  manner — just 
like  an  actor — '  If  he  kills  himself,  they'll  bury 
him  ! '  I  would But  I  know  you  don't,  be- 
cause you're  a  good  sort,  although  you  don't  like 
being  upset.  Fancy  being  without  fire  or  bread  ! 
And  that  after  being  fed  on  dainties  all  your  life, 
and  wrapped  up  in  furs  like  a  little  pet  cat.  It's  a 
shame  and  a  disgrace.  A  nice  sort  of  government 
yours  is  to  allow  such  things  ! " 

"  But  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  govern- 
ment," said  M.  Vauberger,  reasonably  enough. 
"  And  I'm  sure  you're  wrong ;  it's  not  so  bad  as 
all  that.  He  can't  be  wanting  bread  ;  it's  impos- 
sible." 

"  All  right,  Vauberger.  I've  more  to  tell  you. 
I've  followed  him.  I've  watched  him,  and  made 
Edouard  watch  him,  too.  Yes,  I  have.  I'm  cer- 
tain he  had  no  dinner  yesterday,  and  no  breakfast 
to-day  ;  and  as  I've  searched  his  pockets  and  all 
the  drawers,  and  not  found  so  much  as  a  red  cent, 
you  may  be  sure  he  hasn't  had  any  dinner  to-day, 
for  he's  much  too  high  and  mighty  to  go  and 
beg  one." 

"  Oh,  is  he  ?  So  much  the  worse  for  him. 
Poor  people  shouldn't  be  proud,"  said  the 
worthy  concierge,  true  to  the  sentiments  of  his 
calling. 

41  4— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

I  had  had  enough  of  this  dialogue,  and  put  an 
end  to  it  abruptly  by  opening  the  door  and  asking 
M.  Vauberger  for  a  light.  I  could  not  have  as- 
tounded him  more  if  I  had  asked  for  his  head. 
Though  I  particularly  wished  not  to  give  way 
before  these  people,  I  could  not  help  stumbling 
once  or  twice  as  I  went  up  the  stairs.  My  head 
was  swimming.  Usually  my  room  was  as  cold  as 
ice.  Imagine  my  surprise  at  finding  a  bright, 
cheerful  fire,  which  sent  a  pleasant  warmth  through 
the  room.  I  wasn't  stoic  enough  to  put  it  out, 
and  I  blessed  the  kind  hearts  there  are  in  the 
world.  I  stretched  myself  out  in  an  old  arm-chair 
of  Utrecht  velvet,  which,  like  myself,  had  been 
brought  by  reverses  from  the  first  floor  to  the  gar- 
ret. I  tried  to  sleep.  For  half  an  hour  I  had  been 
dreaming  in  a  kind  of  torpor  of  sumptuous  ban- 
quets and  merry  junketings,  when  the  noise  of  the 
door  opening  made  me  jump  up  with  a  start.  I 
thought  I  was  dreaming  still  when  Mme.  Vau- 
berger came  in,  carrying  a  big  tray  with  two  or 
three  savoury  dishes  steaming  on  it.  Before  I 
could  shake  off  my  lethargy  she  had  put  the  tray 
down  and  had  begun  to  lay  the  cloth.  At  last  I 
started  up  hastily. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "what  does  this  mean  ?  What 
are  you  doing  ?  " 

42 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Mme.  Vauberger  pretended  to  be  greatly  sur- 
prised. 

"  I  thought  you  ordered  dinner,  sir  ?  " 

"Oh,  no." 

"  Edouard  told  me  that " 

"  Edouard  made  a  mistake  ;  it's  for  one  of  the 
other  tenants  ;  you  had  better  see." 

"  But  there's  no  other  tenant  on  this  floor, 
sir  ...  I  can't  make  out  ..." 

"  Well,  it  was  not  for  me.  What  does  all 
this  mean  ?  Oh,  you  annoy  me !  Take  it 
away." 

The  pooi  woman  began  to  fold  the  cloth, 
looking  at  me  reproachfully,  like  a  favourite  dog 
who  has  been  beaten. 

"  I  suppose  you've  had  dinner  already,  sir," 
she  said,  timidly. 

"  No  doubt." 

"That  is  a  pity,  because  this  dinner  is  quite 
ready,  and  now  it  will  be  wasted,  and  the  boy'll 
get  a  scolding  from  his  father.  If  you  hadn't  had 
your  dinner  already,  sir,  you  would  have  very 
much  obliged  me  if " 

I  stamped  my  foot  violently. 

"  Leave  the  room,  I  tell  you,"  I  said,  and  as 
she  was  going  out  I  went  up  to  her.  "  My  good 
Louison,"  I  said,  "  I  understand,  and  I  thank 

43 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

you ;  but  I  am  not  very  well  to-night,  and  I  have 
no  appetite." 

"Ah,  M.  Maxime,"  she  exclaimed,  in  tears, 
"you  don't  know  how  you  hurt  my  feelings. 
Well,  you  can  pay  me  for  the  dinner ;  you  shall 
if  you  like ;  you  can  give  me  the  money  as  soon 
as  you  get  some  .  .  .  but  if  you  gave  me  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  it  wouldn't  make  me  so 
happy  as  seeing  you  eat  my  poor  dinner.  You 
would  do  me  a  great  kindness,  M.  Maxime.  You, 
who  are  so  clever,  you  ought  to  understand  how 
I  feel.  Oh,  I  know  you  will,  M.  Maxime  ! " 

"  Well,  my  dear  Louison,  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
I  can't  give  you  a  hundred  thousand  francs  .  .  . 
but  .  .  o  I  am  going  to  eat  ypur  dinner.  All  by 
myself,  too,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  Certainly,  sir.  Oh,  thank  you,  sir  ;  I  thank 
you  very  much  indeed.  You  have  a  kind  heart, 
sir." 

"And  a  good  appetite,  Louison.  Give  me 
your  hand — oh,  not  to  put  money  in,  you  may  be 
sure.  There  !  Au  revozr,  Louison." 

The  good  woman  went  out  sobbing, 

I  did  justice  to  Louison 's  dinner,  and  had  just 
finished  writing  these  lines  when  a  grave  and 
heavy  footstep  sounded  on  the  stairs,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  thought  I  heard  the  voice  of  my 

44 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

humble  providence  whispering  confidences  in  hur- 
ried, nervous  tones.  A  moment  or  two  later 
there  was  a  knock,  Louison  slipped  away  in 
the  darkness,  and  the  solemn  outline  of  the  old 
notary  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

M.  Laube"pin  cast  a  keen  glance  at  the  tray 
where  I  had  left  the  fragments  of  my  dinner. 
Then  coming  towards  me  and  opening  his  arms, 
at  once  confused  and  reproachful,  he  said : 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  marquis,  why  did  you 
not " 

He  broke  off,  strode  quickly  about  the  room, 
and  then  coming  to  a  sudden  halt,  exclaimed : 

"  Young  man,  you  had  no  right  to  do  this ; 
you  have  given  pain  to  a  friend,  and  you  have 
made  an  old  man  blush." 

He  was  much  moved.  I  looked  at  him,  a 
little  moved  myself  and  not  knowing  what  to  say, 
when  he  suddenly  clasped  me  in  his  arms  and 
murmured  in  my  ear,  "  My  poor  child  ...  !  " 

For  a  moment  we  said  nothing.  When  we 
had  sat  down,  M.  Laube"pin  continued. 

"  Maxime,"  he  said,  "are  you  in  the  same 
mind  as  when  I  left  you  ?  Have  you  the  cour- 
age to  accept  the  humblest  work,  the  least  im- 
portant occupation,  provided  it  is  honourable, 
and  that  it  gives  you  a  livelihood  and  preserves 

45 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

your  sister  from  the  sufferings  and  dangers  of 
poverty  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  I  am ;  it's  my  duty,  and  I  am 
ready  to  do  it." 

"  Very  well,  my  friend.  Now  listen  to  me. 
I  have  just  returned  from  Brittany.  In  that 
ancient  province  there  is  a  family  called  Laroque, 
who  have  for  many  years  past  honoured  me  with 
their  entire  confidence.  This  family  is  now  rep- 
resented by  an  old  man  and  two  ladies  whom  age 
or  disposition  render  incapable  of  business.  The 
Laroques  have  a  substantial  income  derived  from 
their  large  estates  in  land,  which  have  latterly 
been  managed  by  an  agent  whom  I  took  the  lib- 
erty to  regard  as  a  rogue.  The  day  following  our 
last  interview,  Maxime,  I  received  intelligence  of 
the  death  of  this  man.  I  immediately  set  out  foi 
the  Chateau  Laroque  and  asked  for  the  appoint- 
ment for  you.  I  laid  stress  on  your  having  been 
called  to  the  bar,  and  dwelt  particularly  on  your 
moral  qualities.  Respecting  your  wishes,  I  did 
not  allude  to  your  birth  ;  you  are  not,  and  will 
not,  be  known  in  that  house  under  any  name  but 
that  of  Maxime  Odiot.  A  pavilion  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  house  will  be  allotted  to  you,  and 
you  will  be  able  to  have  your  meals  there  when, 
for  any  reason,  you  do  not  care  to  join  the  family 

46 


The   Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

at  table.  Your  salary  will  be  six  thousand  francs 
a  year.  How  will  that  suit  you  ?  " 

"  It  will  suit  me  perfectly.  You  must  let  me 
acknowledge  at  once  how  much  I  feel  the  consid- 
eration and  delicacy  of  your  friendship.  But  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  afraid  I  am  rather  a 
strange  kind  of  business  man — rather  a  novice, 
you  know." 

"You  need  have  no  anxiety  on  that  score,  my 
friend.  I  anticipated  your  scruples,  and  concealed 
nothing  from  the  parties  concerned.  '  Madame,' 
I  said  to  my  excellent  friend,  Mme.  Laroque, 
'you  require  an  agent  and  an  administrator  of 
your  income.  I  offer  you  one.  He  is  far  from 
possessing  the  talents  of  his  predecessor ;  he  is  by 
no  means  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  leases  and 
farm-freeholds  ;  he  does  not  know  the  alphabet 
of  the  affairs  you  are  so  good  as  to  intrust  to  him ; 
he  has  had  no  experience,  no  practice,  and  no 
opportunity  of  learning  ;  but  he  has  something 
which  his  predecessor  lacked,  which  sixty  years 
of  experience  had  not  given  him,  and  which  he 
would  not  have  acquired  in  ten  thousand  years — 
and  that  is  honesty,  madame.  I  have  seen  him 
under  fire,  and  I  will  answer  for  him.  Engage 
him  ;  he  will  be  indebted  to  you,  and  so  shall  I.' 
Young  man,  Mme.  Laroque  laughed  very  much 

47 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

at  my  way  of  recommending  people,  but  in  the 
end  it  turned  out  to  be  a  good  way,  for  it  has  suc- 
ceeded." 

The  worthy  old  gentleman  then  offered  to 
impart  to  me  some  elementary  general  notions 
on  the  kind  of  administration  I  was  about  to 
undertake,  and  to  these  he  added,  in  connection 
with  the  interests  of  the  Laroque  family,  the 
results  of  some  inquiries  which  he  had  made 
and  put  into  shape  for  me. 

"  And  when  am  I  to  go,  my  dear  sir  ?" 

"  To  say  the  truth,  my  boy  "  (he  had  entirely 
dropped  the  "marquis"),  "the  sooner  the  better, 
for  those  good  people  could  not  make  out  a  re- 
ceipt unaided.  My  excellent  friend,  Mme.  La- 
roque, more  especially,  though  an  admirable  woman 
in  many  respects,  is  beyond  conception  careless, 
indiscreet,  and  childish  in  business  matters.  She 
is  a  Creole." 

"  Ah  !  she  is  a  Creole,"  I  repeated  with  some 
vivacity. 

"  Yes,  young  man,  an  old  Creole  lady,"  M. 
Laube"pin  said  dryly.  "  Her  husband  was  a  Bret- 
on ;  but  these  details  will  come  in  good  time.  .  .  . 
Good-bye  till  to-morrow,  Maxime,  and  be  of  good 
cheer.  Ah  !  I  had  forgotten.  On  Thursday  morn- 
ing, before  my  departure,  I  did  something  which 

48 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

will  be  of  service  to  you.  Among  your  creditors 
there  are  some  rogues,  whose  relations  with  your 
father  were  obviously  usurious.  Armed  with  the 
thunders  of  the  law,  I  reduced  their  claims  on 
my  own  responsibility,  and  made  them  give  me 
receipts  in  full.  So  now  your  capital  amounts 
to  twenty  thousand  francs.  Add  to  this  reserve 
what  you  are  able  to  save  each  year  from  your 
salary,  and  in  ten  years'  time  we  shall  have  a  good 
dowry  for  Helene.  Well,  well,  come  and  lunch 
with  Maitre  Laubepin  to-morrow,  and  we  will 
settle  all  the  rest.  Good-bye,  Maxime ;  good- 
night, my  dear  child  !  " 
41  God  bless  you,  sir  ! " 

CHATEAU  DE  LAROQUE  (D'ARZ),  May  ist. 

I  left  Paris  yesterday.  My  last  interview  with 
M.  Laubepin  was  painful.  I  feel  the  affection 
of  a  son  for  the  old  man.  Then  I  had  to  bid 
Helene  farewell.  It  was  necessary  to  tell  her 
something  of  the  truth,  to  make  her  understand 
why  I  was  compelled  to  accept  an  appointment. 
I  talked  vaguely  of  temporary  business  difficul- 
ties. The  poor  child  understood,  I  think,  more 
than  I  had  said  ;  her  large,  wondering  eyes  filled 
with  tears  as  she  fell  upon  my  neck. 

At  last  I  got  away.  I  went  by  train  to 

49 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Rennes,  where  I  stayed  the  night.  This  morning 
I  took  the  diligence,  which  put  me  down,  four 
or  five  hours  ago,  at  a  little  Morbihan  town  not 
far  from  the  chateau  of  Laroque.  We  had  trav- 
elled ten  leagues  or  more  from  Rennes,  and  still 
I  had  seen  nothing  to  justify  the  reputed  pic- 
turesqueness  of  our  ancient  Armorica.  A  flat, 
green  country  without  variety ;  eternal  apple-trees 
in  eternal  fields  ;  ditches  and  wooded  slopes  shut- 
ting off  the  view  on  both  sides  of  the  road ; 
here  and  there  a  nook  full  of  rural  charm,  and 
a  few  blouses  and  glazed  hats  relieving  the  very 
ordinary  scene.  All  this  strongly  inclined  me  to 
think  that  poetic  Brittany  was  merely  a  preten- 
tious and  somewhat  pallid  sister  of  Lower  Nor- 
mandy. Tired  of  disillusions  and  apple-trees,  I 
had  for  more  than  an  hour  ceased  to  take  any 
notice  of  the  country.  I  was  dozing  heavily, 
when  I  felt  suddenly  that  the  lumbering  vehicle 
was  lurching  forward  heavily.  At  the  same 
time  the  pace  of  the  horses  slackened,  and  a 
clanking  noise,  together  with  a  peculiar  vibra- 
tion, proclaimed  that  the  worst  of  drivers  had 
applied  the  worst  of  brakes  to  the  worst  of  dili- 
gences. An  old  lady  clutched  my  arm  with  the 
ready  sympathy  excited  by  a  sense  of  common 
danger.  I  put  my  head  out  of  the  window  ;  we 

50 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

were  descending,  between  two  lofty  slopes,  an 
extremely  steep  hill,  evidently  the  work  of  an 
engineer  too  much  enamoured  of  the  straight 
line. 

Half-sliding,  half-rolling,  we  soon  reached  the 
bottom  of  a  narrow  valley  of  gloomy  aspect.  A 
feeble  brook  flowed  silently  and  slowly  among 
thick  reeds,  and  over  its  crumbling  banks  hung  a 
few  moss-grown  tree-trunks.  The  road  crossed 
the  stream  by  a  bridge  of  a  single  arch,  and,  climb- 
ing the  farther  hill,  cut  a  white  track  across  a  wide, 
barren,  and  naked  lande  whose  crest  stood  out 
sharply  against  the  horizon  in  front  of  us.  Near 
the  bridge  and  close  to  the  road  was  a  ruined 
hovel.  Its  air  of  desolation  struck  to  the  heart, 
A  young,  robust  man  was  splitting  wood  by  the 
door ;  his  long,  fair  hair  was  fastened  at  the  back 
by  a  black  ribbon.  He  raised  his  head,  and  I  was 
surprised  at  the  strange  character  of  his  features 
and  at  the  calm  gaze  of  his  blue  eyes.  He  greeted 
me  in  an  unknown  tongue  and  with  a  quiet,  soft, 
and  timid  accent.  A  woman  was  spinning  at  the 
cottage  window  ;  the  style  of  her  hair  and  dress 
reproduced  with  theatrical  fidelity  the  images  of 
those  slim  chatelaines  of  stone  we  see  on  tombs. 
These  people  did  not  look  like  peasants  ;  they  had, 
in  the  highest  degree,  that  easy,  gracious,  and  se- 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

rious  air  we  call  distinction.  And  they  had,  too, 
the  sad  and  dreamy  expression  often  seen  among 
people  whose  nationality  has  been  destroyed. 

I  had  got  down  to  walk  up  the  hill.  The 
lande,  which  was  not  separated  from  the  road,  ex- 
tended all  round  me  as  far  and  farther  than  I 
could  see ;  stunted  furze  clung  to  the  black 
earth  on  every  side ;  here  and  there  were  ravines, 
clefts,  deserted  quarries,  and  low  rocks,  but  no 
trees. 

Only  when  I  had  reached  the  high  ground  I 
saw  the  distant  sombre  line  of  the  heath  broken 
by  a  more  distant  strip  of  the  horizon.  A  little 
serrated,  blue  as  the  sea  and  steeped  in  sunlight,  it 
seemed  to  open  in  the  midst  of  this  desolation  the 
sudden  vision  of  some  radiant  fairy  region.  At 
last  I  saw  Brittany  ! 

I  had  to  engage  a  carriage  to  take  me  the  two 
leagues  that  separated  me  from  the  end  of  my 
journey.  During  the  drive,  which  was  not  by  any 
means  a  rapid  one,  I  vaguely  remember  seeing 
woods,  glades,  lakes,  and  oases  of  fresh  verdure  in 
the  valleys ;  but  as  we  approached  the  Chateau 
Laroque  I  was  besieged  by  a  thousand  appre- 
hensions which  left  no  room  for  tourist's  reflec- 
tions. In  a  few  minutes  I  was  to  enter  a  strange 
family  on  the  footing  of  a  sort  of  servant  in  dis- 

52 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

guise,  and  in  a  position  which  would  barely  secure 
me  the  consideration  and  respect  of  the  lackeys 
themselves.  This  was  something  very  new  to  me. 
The  moment  M.  Laube"pin  proposed  this  post  of 
bailiff,  all  my  instincts,  all  my  habits,  had  risen  in 
violent  protest  against  the  peculiar  character  of 
dependence  attached  to  such  duties.  Neverthe- 
less, I  had  thought  it  impossible  to  refuse  without 
appearing  to  slight  my  old  friend's  zealous  efforts 
on  my  behalf.  Moreover,  in  a  less  dependent 
position,  I  could  not  have  hoped  to  obtain  for 
many  years  the  advantages  which  I  should  have 
here  from  the  outset,  and  which  would  enable  me 
to  work  for  my  sister's  future  without  losing  time. 
I  had  therefore  overcome  my  repugnance,  but  it 
had  been  very  strong,  and  now  revived  more 
strongly  than  ever  in  face  of  the  imminent  reality. 
I  had  need  to  study  once  more  the  articles  on 
duty  and  sacrifice  in  the  moral  code  that  every 
man  carries  in  his  conscience.  At  the  same  time 
I  told  myself  that  there  is  no  situation,  however 
humble,  where  personal  dignity  cannot  maintain 
itself — and  none,  in  fact,  that  it  cannot  ennoble. 
Then  I  sketched  out  a  plan  of  conduct  towards  the 
Laroque  family,  and  promised  myself  to  show  a 
conscientious  zeal  for  their  interests,  and,  to  them- 
selves, a  just  deference  equally  removed  from  ser- 

53 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

vility  and  from  stiffness.  But  I  could  not  conceal 
from  myself  that  the  last  part  of  my  task,  ob- 
viously the  most  delicate,  would  be  either  greatly 
simplified  or  complicated  by  the  special  characters 
and  dispositions  of  the  people  with  whom  I  was 
to  come  into  contact.  Now,  M.  Laube"pin,  while 
recognising  that  my  anxiety  on  these  personal 
questions  was  quite  legitimate,  had  been  stub- 
bornly sparing  of  information  and  details  on  the 
subject.  However,  just  as  I  was  starting,  he  had 
handed  me  a  private  memorandum  counselling  me 
at  the  same  time  to  throw  it  in  the  fire  as  soon  as 
I  had  profited  by  its  contents.  This  memorandum 
I  took  from  my  portfolio  and  proceeded  to  study 
its  sibylline  utterances,  which  I  here  reproduce 
exactly. 

"CHATEAU   DE   LAROOUE    (D'ARZ) 

"  LIST  OF  PERSONS  LIVING  AT  THE  AFORESAID  CHATEAU 

"  i st.  M.  Laroque  (Louis- Auguste),  octogena- 
rian, present  head  of  the  family,  main  source  of 
its  wealth  :  an  old  sailor,  famous  under  the  first 
empire  as  a  sort  of  authorized  pirate  ;  appears  to 
have  enriched  himself  by  lawful  enterprises  of 
various  kinds  on  the  sea  ;  has  lived  in  the  colonies 
for  a  long-  while.  Born  in  Brittany,  he  returned 
and  settled  there  about  thirty  years  since,  accom- 

54 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

panied  by  the  late  Pierre-Antoine  Laroque,  his 
only  son,  husband  of 

"  2d.  Mme.  Laroque  (Josephine-Clara),  daugh- 
ter-in-law of  the  above-mentioned ;  by  origin  a 
Creole ;  aged  forty  years ;  indolent  disposition  ; 
romantic  temperament ;  certain  whimsies  :  a  beau- 
tiful nature. 

"  3d.  Mile.  Laroque  (Marguerite-Louise),  the 
grand-daughter,  daughter,  and  presumptive  heiress 
of  the  preceding,  aged  twenty  years ;  Creole  and 
Bretonne  ;  cherishes  certain  chimseras  ;  a  beautiful 
nature. 

"  4th.  Mme.  Aubry,  widow  of  one  Aubry,  a 
stock-broker,  who  died  in  Belgium ;  a  second 
cousin,  lives  with  the  family. 

"  5th.  Mile.  Htelouin  (Caroline-Gabrielle),  aged 
twenty-six ;  formerly  governess,  now  companion ; 
cultivated  intellect ;  character  doubtful. 

"  Burn  this." 

In  spite  of  its  reticence,  this  document  was  of 
some  service  to  me.  Relieved  from  the  dread  of 
the  unknown,  I  felt  that  my  apprehensions  had 
partly  subsided.  And  if,  as  M.  Laubepin  asserted, 
there  were  two  fine  characters  in  the  Chateau  La- 
roque, it  was  a  higher  proportion  than  one  could 
have  expected  to  find  among  five  inhabitants. 

55 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

After  a  drive  of  two  hours  the  coachman  stopped 
at  a  gate  flanked  by  two  lodges. 

I  left  my  heavy  luggage  there,  and  went  to- 
wards the  chateau,  carrying  a  valise  in  one  hand, 
while  I  used  the  other  to  cut  off  the  heads  of  the 
marguerites  with  my  cane.  After  walking  a  little 
distance  between  rows  of  large  chestnuts  I  came 
to  a  spacious  circular  garden,  emerging  into  a  park 
a  little  farther  on.  Right  and  left  I  saw  deep 
vistas  opening  out  between  groves  already  verdant, 
water  flowing  under  trees,  and  little  white  boats 
laid  up  in  rustic  boat-houses. 

Facing  me  was  the  chateau,  an  imposing  build- 
ing in  the  elegant  half-Italian  style  of  the  early 
years  of  Louis  XIII.  At  the  foot  of  the  double 
perron,  and  under  the  lofty  windows  of  the  facade 
stretched  a  long  terrace,  which  formed  a  kind  of 
private  garden,  approached  by  several  broad,  low 
steps.  The  gay  and  sumptuous  aspect  of  this 
place  caused  me  a  real  disappointment,  which  was 
not  lessened  when,  as  I  drew  nearer  to  the  terrace, 
I  heard  the  noise  of  young  and  laughing  voices 
rising  above  the  distant  tinkle  of  a  piano.  Plainly 
I  had  come  to  an  abode  of  pleasure  very  different 
from  the  old  and  gloomy  donjon  of  my  imagin- 
ings. However,  the  time  for  reflection  had  passed. 
I  went  quickly  up  the  steps,  and  suddenly  found 

56 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

myself  in  the  midst  of  a  scene,  which  in  any  other 
circumstances  I  should  have  thought  extremely 
pretty. 

On  one  of  the  lawns  of  the  flower-garden  half 
a  dozen  young  girls,  linked  in  couples  and  laugh- 
ing at  themselves,  whirled  in  a  flood  of  sunshine, 
while  a  piano,  touched  by  a  skilful  hand,  sent 
the  rhythms  of  a  riotous  waltz  through  an  open 
window. 

But  I  had  scarcely  had  time  to  note  the  ani- 
mated faces  of  the  dancers,  their  loosened  hair, 
and  large  hats  flapping  on  their  shoulders.  My 
sudden  appearance  had  been  received  with  a  cry 
of  general  alarm,  succeeded  by  profound  silence. 
The  dancing  ceased,  and  all  the  band  awaited  the 
advance  of  the  stranger  in  array  of  battle.  But 
the  stranger  had  come  to  a  halt  with  signs  of  evi- 
dent embarrassment.  Though  for  some  time  past 
I  had  scarcely  troubled  my  head  about  my  social 
claims,  I  must  confess  that  at  this  moment  I 
should  gladly  have  got  rid  of  my  hand-bag.  But 
I  had  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation.  As  I 
advanced,  hat  in  hand,  towards  the  double  stair- 
case leading  to  the  vestibule  of  the  chateau  the 
piano  ceased  abruptly.  A  large  Newfoundland 
first  presented  himself  at  the  window,  putting  his 
lion-like  head  on  the  cross-bar  between  his  two 

57 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

hairy  paws  ;  immediately  after  there  appeared  a 
tall  young  girl,  whose  somewhat  sunburnt  face 
and  serious  expression  were  framed  in  a  mass  of 
black  and  lustrous  hair.  Her  eyes,  which  I  thought 
extraordinarily  large,  examined  the  scene  outside 
with  nonchalant  curiosity. 

"Well,  what  is  the  matter?"  she  asked  in  a 
quiet  tone. 

I  made  her  a  low  bow,  and  once  more  cursing 
the  bag  which  evidently  amused  the  young  ladies, 
I  crossed  the  perron  hastily,  and  entered  the  house. 

In  the  hall  a  gray-haired  servant,  dressed  in 
black,  took  my  name.  A  few  minutes  later  I 
was  shown  into  a  large  drawing-room  hung  with 
yellow  silk.  There  I  at  once  recognised  the 
young  lady  I  had  just  seen  at  the  window.  She 
was  beyond  question  remarkably  beautiful.  By 
the  fire-place,  where  a  regular  furnace  was  blazing, 
a  lady  of  middle  age  and  of  marked  Creole  type 
of  feature,  sat  buried  in  a  large  arm-chair  among 
a  mass  of  eider-down  pillows  and  cushions  of  all 
sizes.  Within  her  reach  stood  an  antique  tripod 
surmounted  by  a  brasero,  to  which  she  frequently 
held  her  pale  and  delicate  hands.  Near  Mme. 
Laroque  sat  a  lady  knitting,  whom  I  recognised 
at  once  by  her  morose  and  disagreeable  expression 
as  the  second  cousin,  the  widow  of  the  stock- 

$8 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

broker  who  died  in  Belgium.  Mme.  Laroque 
looked  at  me  as  if  she  were  more  than  surprised, 
as  if  she  were  astounded.  She  asked  my  name 
again. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  .  .  .  Monsieur  .  .  .  ?" 

"  Odiot,  madame." 

"  Maxime  Odiot — the  manager,  the  steward — 
that  M.  Laube"pin  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  Yes,  madame,  quite  sure." 

She  glanced  quickly  at  the  widow  of  the 
stock-broker,  and  then  at  the  grave  young  girl, 
as  if  to  say,  "  Is  it  possible  ?  "  Then  she  moved 
slightly  among  her  cushions,  and  continued  : 

"  Pray  sit  down,  M.  Odiot,"  she  said.  "  I 
must  thank  you  very  much  for  placing  your 
talents  at  our  service.  We  need  your  help  badly, 
I  assure  you,  for — it  cannot  be  denied — we  have 
the  misfortune  to  be  very  wealthy." 

Seeing  the  second  cousin  raise  her  shoulders 
at  this,  Mme.  Laroque  went  on  :  "  Yes,  my  dear 
Mme.  Aubry,  I  do  say  so,  and  I  hold  to  it.  God 
sent  me  riches  to  try  me.  Most  certainly  I  was 
born  for  poverty  and  privation,  for  devotion  and 
sacrifice ;  but  I  have  always  been  crossed.  For 

59 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

instance,  I  should  have  loved  to  have  had  an  in- 
valid husband.  M.  Laroque  was  an  exceptionally 
healthy  man.  That  is  how  my  destiny  has  been 
and  will  be  marred  from  beginning  to  end " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  like  that ! "  said  Mme.  Aubry 
dryly.  "  Poverty  would  agree  with  you — a  person 
who  can't  deny  herself  a  single  indulgence  or 
refinement!" 

"  One  moment,  my  dear  madame,"  returned 
Mme.  Laroque,  "  I  do  not  believe  in  useless  sacri- 
fices. If  I  subjected  myself  to  the  worst  priva- 
tions, who  would  be  the  better  for  it  ?  Would 
you  be  any  happier  if  I  shivered  with  cold  from 
morning  till  night  ?  " 

By  an  expressive  gesture  Mme.  Aubry  signi- 
fied that  she  would  not  be  any  happier,  but  that 
she  considered  Mme.  Laroque's  language  ex- 
tremely affected  and  ridiculous. 

"After  all,"  continued  Mme.  Laroque,  "good 
fortune  or  ill  fortune,  what  does  it  matter  ?  As  I 
said,  M.  Odiot,  we  are  very  rich,  and  little  as  I 
may  value  our  wealth,  it  is  my  duty  to  preserve 
it  for  my  daughter,  though  the  poor  child  cares  no 
more  for  it  than  I.  Do  you,  Marguerite  ?" 

A  slight  smile  broke  the  curve  of  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite's disdainful  lips  at  this  question,  and  the 
low  arch  of  her  eyebrows  contracted  momentarily ; 

60 


The   Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

then  the  grave,  haughty  face  subsided  into  repose 
again. 

"  M.  Odiot,"  resumed  Mme.  Laroque,  "you 
shall  be  shown  the  place,  which,  at  M.  Laube"  pin's 
explicit  request,  has  been  reserved  for  you  ;  but 
before  this  I  should  like  you  to  be  introduced  to 
my  father-in-law,  who  will  be  very  much  pleased 
to  see  you.  My  dear  cousin,  will  you  ring  ?  M. 
Odiot,  I  hope  that  you  will  give  us  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  at  dinner  to-day.  Good-bye — for 
the  present." 

I  was  intrusted  to  the  care  of  a  servant,  who 
asked  me  to  wait  in  a  room  next  to  the  one  I  had 
just  left,  until  he  had  ascertained  M.  Laroque's 
wishes.  He  had  not  closed  the  door  of  the  salon, 
so  it  was  impossible  for  me  not  to  hear  these 
words  spoken  by  Mme.  Laroque  with  the  good- 
natured  irony  habitual  to  her : 

"There!  Can  you  understand  Laub^pin ?  He 
talked  of  a  man  of  a  certain  age  ;  very  simple,  very 
steady,  and  he  sends  me  a  gentleman  like  that ! " 

Mile.  Marguerite  said  something,  but  so  quietly 
that  I  could  not  hear  it,  much  to  my  regret,  I  con- 
fess. Her  mother  replied  immediately  : 

"That  may  be  so,  my  dear,  but  it  is  none  the 
less  absolutely  ridiculous  of  Laube"pin.  Do  you 
expect  that  a  man  of  that  kind  will  go  running 

61 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

about  ploughed  fields  in  sabots  ?  I  will  wager  that 
man  has  never  worn  sabots ;  he  doesn't  know  what 
they  are.  Well,  it  may  be  a  prejudice  of  mine, 
dear,  but  sabots  seem  to  me  essential  to  a  good 
bailiff.  Marguerite,  it  has  just  occurred  to  me, 
you  might  take  him  to  your  grandfather." 

Mile.  Marguerite  entered  the  room  where  I 
was  almost  directly.  She  seemed  vexed  to  find 
me  there. 

"  Pardon  me,  mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "  but  the 
servant  asked  me  to  wait  here." 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  follow  me,  sir  ? " 

I  followed  her.  She  made  me  climb  a  stair- 
case, cross  many  corridors,  and  at  last  brought  me 
to  a  kind  of  gallery,  where  she  left  me.  I 
amused  myself  by  examining  the  pictures.  They 
were,  for  the  most  part,  very  ordinary  sea  pieces 
painted  to  glorify  the  old  privateersmen  of  the 
Empire.  There  were  several  rather  murky  sea- 
fights,  in  which  it  was  very  evident  that  the  little 
brig  Aimable,  Captain  Laroque,  twenty-six  guns, 
gave  John  Bull  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Then 
came  several  full-length  portraits  of  Captain 
Laroque,  which  naturally  attracted  my  particular 
attention.  With  certain  slight  variations  they  all 
represented  a  man  of  gigantic  height,  wearing 
a  sort  of  republican  uniform  with  large  facings,  as 

62 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

luxuriant  of  locks  as  Kl6ber,  and  looking  straight 
before  him  with  an  energetic,  glowing,  and  som- 
bre expression.  Altogether  not  exactly  a  pleasant 
sort  of  man.  While  I  studied  this  mighty  figure, 
which  perfectly  realized  the  general  idea  of  a  pri- 
vateersman  and  even  of  a  pirate,  Mile.  Marguerite 
asked  me  to  come  into  the  room.  I  found  myself 
face  to  face  with  a  shrivelled  and  decrepit  old 
man,  whose  eyes  showed  scarcely  a  spark  of  life, 
and  who,  as  he  welcomed  me,  touched  with  trem- 
bling hand  the  cap  of  black  silk  which  covered  a 
skull  that  shone  like  ivory. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Mile.  Marguerite,  raising 
her  voice,  "this  is  M.  Odiot." 

The  poor  old  privateersman  raised  himself  a 
little,  as  he  looked  at  me  with  a  dull  and  wavering 
expression. 

I  sat  down  at  a  sign  from  Mile.  Marguerite, 
who  repeated : 

"  M.  Odiot,  the  new  bailiff,  grandfather." 

"  Ah — good-day,  sir,"  murmured  the  old  man. 

An  interval  of  most  painful  silence  followed. 
Captain  Laroque,  his  body  bent  in  two  and  his 
head  hanging  down,  fixed  a  bewildered  look  on 
me.  At  last,  having  apparently  found  a  highly 
interesting  subject  of  conversation,  he  said  in  a 
dull,  deep  voice  : 

63 


The   Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  M.  de  Beauchene  is  dead  !" 

I  was  not  provided  with  a  reply  to  this  un- 
expected communication.  I  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  who  M.  de  Beauchene  might  be ;  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite did  not  take  the  trouble  to  tell  me ;  so 
I  limited  the  expression  of  my  regret  at  this 
unhappy  event  to  a  slight  exclamation  of  con- 
dolence. But  the  old  captain  apparently  thought 
this  was  not  adequate,  for  the  next  moment  he 
repeated,  in  the  same  mournful  voice  : 

44  M.  de  Beauchene  is  dead  ! " 

This  persistence  increased  my  embarrassment. 
I  saw  Mile.  Marguerite  impatiently  tapping  her 
foot  on  the  floor.  Despair  seized  me,  and,  catch- 
ing at  the  first  phrase  that  came  into  my  head, 
I  said : 

"  Yes  ;  and  what  did  he  die  of  ?" 

I  had  scarcely  asked  the  question,  when  an 
angry  look  from  Mile.  Marguerite  told  me  that 
I  was  suspected  of  irreverent  mockery.  Though 
I  was  not  conscious  of  anything  worse  than  a 
foolish  gaucherie,  I  did  all  I  could  to  give  the 
conversation  a  more  pleasant  character.  I  spoke 
of  the  pictures  in  the  gallery,  of  the  great  emo- 
tions they  must  recall,  of  the  respectful  interest 
I  felt  in  contemplating  the  hero  of  these  glorious 
scenes.  I  even  went  into  detail,  and  instanced 

64 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

with  no  certain  warmth  of  feeling  two  or  three 
battles  in  which  I  thought  the  brig  Aimable 
had  actually  accomplished  miracles.  While  I 
thus  expressed  the  courteous  interest  of  good 
breeding,  Mile.  Marguerite  still,  to  my  surprise, 
regarded  me  with  manifest  dissatisfaction  and 
annoyance. 

Her  grandfather,  however,  listened  attentively, 
and  I  saw  that  his  head  was  rising  little  by  little. 
A  strange  smile  lighted  up  his  haggard  face  and 
swept  away  his  wrinkles.  All  at  once  he  rose,  and, 
seizing  the  arms  of  his  chair,  drew  himself  up  to 
his  full  height ;  the  glare  of  battle  flashed  from 
the  hollow  sockets  of  his  eyes,  and  he  shouted  in 
a  sonorous  voice  that  made  me  start : 

"  Helm  to  windward  !  Hard  to  windward  ! 
Larboard  fire  !  Lay  to  ;  lay  to  !  Grapple,  smart 
now,  we  have  them  !  Fire,  there  above  !  Sweep 
them  well,  sweep  the  bridge  !  Now  follow  me — 
together — down  with  the  English,  down  with  the 
cursed  Saxon  !  Hurrah  ! 

With  this  last  cry,  which  rattled  hoarsely  in  his 
throat,  he  sank  exhausted  into  his  chair ;  in  vain 
his  grand -daughter  sought  to  aid  him.  Mile. 
Laroque,  with  a  quick  imperious  gesture,  urged 
me  to  depart,  and  I  left  the  room  immediately. 
I  found  my  way  as  best  I  could  through  the 

65  5— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

labyrinth  of  corridors  and  staircases,  congratu- 
lating myself  very  much  on  the  talent  for  apropos 
which  I  had  displayed  in  my  interview  with  the 
old  captain  of  the  Aimable. 

Alain,  the  gray-haired  servant  who  had  received 
me  when  I  arrived,  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  hall 
to  tell  me  from  Mme.  Laroque  that  I  should  not 
have  time  to  go  to  my  quarters  before  dinner,  and 
that  it  would  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  change 
my  dress.  As  I  entered  the  salon,  a  company  of 
about  twenty  people  were  leaving  it  in  order  of 
precedence  on  their  way  to  the  dining-room.  This 
was  the  first  time  I  had  taken  part  in  any  social 
function  since  the  change  in  my  condition.  Ac- 
customed to  the  small  distinctions  which  the  eti- 
quette of  the  drawing-room  grants  to  birth  and 
fortune,  I  felt  keenly  the  first  symptoms  of  that 
indifference  and  contempt  to  which  my  new  situa- 
tion must  necessarily  expose  me.  Repressing  as 
well  as  I  could  this  ebullition  of  false  pride,  I  gave 
my  arm  to  a  young  lady,  well  made  and  pretty, 
though  rather  small.  She  had  kept  in  the  back- 
ground as  the  guests  passed  out,  and,  as  I  had 
guessed,  she  proved  to  be  the  governess,  Mile. 
He*louin.  The  place  at  table  marked  as  mine  was 
next  to  hers.  While  we  were  taking  our  seats, 
Mile.  Marguerite  appeared  guiding  like  Antigone 

66 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  slow  and  dragging  steps  of  her  grandfather. 
With  the  air  of  tranquil  majesty  peculiar  to  her, 
she  came  and  sat  down  on  my  right,  and  the  big 
Newfoundland,  who  seemed  to  be  the  official 
guardian  of  this  princess,  took  up  his  place  as  sen- 
tinel behind  her  chair.  I  thought  it  my  duty  to 
express  at  once  my  regret  at  having  so  maladroitly 
aroused  memories  which  seemed  to  have  such  an 
unfortunate  effect  on  her  grandfather. 

"  It  is  for  me  to  apologize,"  she  answered.  "  I 
should  have  warned  you  never  to  speak  of  the 
English  in  my  grandfather's  presence.  ...  Do 
you  know  Brittany  well  ?  " 

I  said  that  I  had  not  seen  it  till  to-day,  but 
that  I  was  perfectly  delighted  to  know  it,  and  to 
show,  moreover,  that  I  was  worthy  so  to  do,  I  en- 
larged in  lyric  style  on  the  picturesque  beauties 
that  had  struck  me  during  the  journey.  Just  as  I 
was  hoping  that  this  clever  flattery  would  secure 
me  the  good  graces  of  the  young  Bretonne,  I  was 
surprised  to  see  her  show  symptoms  of  impatience 
and  boredom.  Decidedly  I  was  not  fortunate 
with  this  young  lady. 

"  Good  !  I  see,"  she  said  with  a  singular  ex- 
pression of  irony,  "that  you  love  all  that  is  beau- 
tiful, all  that  appeals  to  the  soul  and  the  imagina- 
tion—nature, bloom,  heather,  rocks,  and  the  fine 

67 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

arts.  You  will  get  on  wonderfully  well  with 
Mile.  He"louin,  who  adores  all  those  things.  For 
my  part  I  care  nothing  about  them." 

"  Then  in  Heaven's  name,  mademoiselle,  what 
are  the  things  you  love  ?  " 

I  asked  the  question  in  a  playful  tone.  Mile. 
Marguerite  turned  sharply  on  me,  flashed  a 
haughty  look  at  me,  and  replied  curtly  : 

"  I  love  my  dog.     Here,  Mervyn  !" 

She  thrust  her  hand  fondly  into  the  New- 
foundland's thick  coat.  Standing  on  his  hind 
legs,  he  had  already  stretched  his  huge  head  be- 
tween my  plate  and  Mile.  Marguerite's. 

I  began  to  observe  this  young  lady  with  more 
interest,  and  to  search  for  the  outward  signs  of  the 
unimpressionable  soul  on  which  she  appeared  to 
pride  herself. 

I  had  at  first  supposed  that  Mile.  Laroque  was 
very  tall,  but  this  impression  was  due  to  the  noble 
and  harmonious  character  of  her  beauty.  She  is 
really  of  medium  height.  The  rounded  oval  of 
her  face  and  her  haughty  and  well-poised  neck  are 
lightly  tinged  with  sombre  gold.  Her  hair,  which 
lies  in  strong  relief  upon  her  forehead,  ripples  at 
every  movement  of  her  head  with  bluish  reflec- 
tions. The  fine  and  delicate  nostrils  seem  to  have 
been  copied  from  the  divine  model  of  a  Roman 

68 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Madonna,  and  cut  in  living  pearl.  Under  the 
large,  deep,  and  pensive  eyes,  the  golden  sun-burn 
of  the  cheeks  deepens  into  an  aureole  of  deeper 
brown,  which  looks  like  the  shadow  of  the  eye- 
lashes, or  may  be  a  circle  seared  by  the  burning 
glances  of  her  eyes. 

It  is  hard  to  describe  the  sovereign  sweetness  of 
the  smile  which  animates  this  lovely  face  at  inter- 
vals, and  tempers  the  splendour  of  the  great  eyes. 
Of  a  surety,  the  goddess  of  poetry,  of  reverie,  and 
of  fairy  realms  might  boldly  claim  the  homage  of 
mortals  under  the  form  of  this  child,- who  loves 
nothing  but  her  dog.  In  her  rarest  creations 
nature  often  reserves  her  most  cruel  deceptions 
for  us. 

After  all,  it  matters  little  to  me.  I  see  plainly 
that  I  am  to  play  in  the  imagination  of  Mile. 
Marguerite  a  part  something  like  that  of  a  negro, 
which,  as  we  know,  is  not  an  object  particularly 
attractive  to  Creoles.  For  my  part,  I  flatter  my- 
self that  I  am  quite  as  proud  as  Mile.  Marguerite. 
The  most  impossible  kind  of  love  for  me  is  one 
which  might  lay  me  open  to  the  charge  of  schem- 
ing or  self-seeking.  But  I  fancy  that  I  shall  not 
require  much  moral  courage  to  meet  so  remote  a 
danger,  for  Mile.  Marguerite's  beaut y  is  of  the 
kind  which  attracts  the  contemplation  of  the 

69 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

artist,  rather  than  any  warmer  and  more  human 
sentiment. 

However,  at  the  name  of  Mervyn,  which  Mile. 
Marguerite  had  given  to  her  body-guard,  Mile. 
He"louin,  my  left-hand  neighbour,  plunged  boldly 
into  the  Arthurian  cycle,  and  was  so  good  as  to  in- 
form me  that  Mervyn  was  the  correct  name  of  the 
celebrated  enchanter,  whom  the  vulgar  call  Mer- 
lin. From  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  she 
worked  back  to  the  days  of  Cassar  and  all  the  hier- 
archy of  druids,  bards,  and  ovates  denied  in  tedious 
procession  before  me.  After  them  we  fell,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  from  dolmen  to  menhir  and  from 
galgal  to  cromlech. 

While  I  wandered  in  Celtic  forests  with  Mile. 
He"louin,  who  wanted  only  a  little  more  flesh  to 
make  quite  a  respectable  druidess,  the  widow  of 
the  stock-broker  made  the  echoes-  resound  with 
complaints  as  ceaseless  and  monotonous  as  those 
of  a  blind  beggar :  They  had  forgotten  to  give 
her  a  foot-warmer  !  They  gave  her  cold  soup  ! 
They  gave  her  bones  without  meat !  That  was 
how  she  was  treated  !  Still,  she  was  used  to  it. 
Ah,  it  is  sad  to  be  poor,  very  sad  !  She  wished 
she  were  dead. 

"  Yes,  doctor " — she  was  speaking  to  her 
neighbour,  v:ho  listened  to  her  wailings  with 

70 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

slightly  ironical  interest — "yes,  doctor,  I  am  not 
joking ;  I  do  wish  I  were  dead.  I  am  sure  it 
would  be  a  great  relief  to  everybody.  Think 
what  it  must  be — to  have  been  in  the  position 
I've  been  in,  to  have  eaten  off  silver  plate  with 
one's  own  coat  of  arms,  and  now  to  be  reduced  to 
charity,  to  be  the  sport  of  servants !  No  one 
knows  what  I  suffer  in  this  house ;  no  one  ever 
will  know.  The  proud  suffer  without  complain- 
ing, so  I  say  nothing,  doctor,  but  I  think  all  the 
more." 

"  Of  course,  dear  lady,"  said  the  doctor,  whose 
name  was  Desmarets.  "  Don't  say  any  more. 
Take  a  good  drink.  That  will  calm  you." 

"  Nothing  but  death  will  calm  me,  doctor." 

"  Very  well,  madame,  I  am  ready  when  you 
are,"  said  the  doctor  resolutely. 

Towards  the  centre  of  the  table  the  attention 
of  the  company  was  monopolized  by  the  careless, 
caustic,  and  animated  braggadocio  of  a  M.  de 
Bdvallan,  who  seemed  to  be  allowed  the  latitude 
of  a  very  intimate  friend.  He  is  a  very  tall  man, 
no  longer  young,  of  a  type  closely  akin  to  that  of 
Francis  I. 

They  listened  to  him  as  if  he  were  an  oracle, 
and  Mile.  Laroquc  herself  showed  as  much  inter- 
est and  admiration  as  she  seemed  capable  of  feel* 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

ing  for  anything  in  this  world.  But,  as  most  of 
his  popular  witticisms  referred  to  local  anecdotes 
and  parish  gossip,  I  could  not  adequately  appre- 
ciate the  merits  of  this  Armorican  lion. 

I  had  reason,  however,  to  appreciate  his  cour- 
tesy ;  after  dinner  he  offered  me  a  cigar,  and 
showed  me  the  way  to  the  smoking-room,  where 
he  did  the  honours  to  three  or  four  extremely 
young  men,  who  evidently  thought  him  a  model 
of  good  manners  and  refined  wickedness. 

"  Well,  Bevallan,"  said  one  of  these  young 
fellows,  "you've  not  given  up  hopes  of  the 
priestess  of  the  sun-god  ?  " 

"  Never!"  replied  M.  de  Bevallan.  "  I  would 
wait  ten  months — ten  years,  if  necessary — but  I 
will  marry  her  or  no  one  shall ! " 

"  You're  a  lucky  chap  !  The  governess  will 
help  you  to  be  patient." 

"  Must  I  cut  out  your  tongue,  or  cut  off  your 
ears,  young  Arthur?"  said  M.  de  Bevallan,  going 
towards  him  and  indicating  my  presence  with  a 
hasty  gesture. 

A  delightful  conversational  pell-mell  then  fol- 
lowed, which  introduced  me  to  all  the  horses,  all 
the  dogs,  and  all  the  ladies  of  the  neighbourhood. 
It  would  not  be  a  bad  thing  for  ladies  if,  for  once 
in  their  lives,  they  could  hear  the  kind  of  conver- 

72 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

sation  which  goes  on  between  men  in  the  effusive 
mood  that  follows  a  copious  repast.  It  would 
show  them  exactly  the  delicacy  of  our  manners, 
and  the  amount  of  confidence  they  are  calculated 
to  inspire.  I  am  not  in  the  least  prudish,  but  in 
my  opinion  this  conversation  outran  the  limits 
of  the  freest  jesting ;  it  touched  on  everything, 
gaily  outraged  everything,  took  on  a  gratuitous 
tone  of  universal  profanation.  My  education  is, 
perhaps,  incomplete,  for  it  has  left  me  with  a  cer- 
tain reserve  of  reverence,  that  I  think  should  be 
maintained  even  in  the  wildest  extravagances  of 
high  spirits. 

But  we  have  in  the  France  of  to-day  our  young 
America,  which  is  not  happy  unless  it  can  blas- 
pheme a  little  after  drinking ;  we  have  the  future 
hopes  of  the  nation,  those  amiable  little  ruffians, 
without  father  or  mother,  without  God  or  country, 
who  seem  to  be  the  raw  products  of  some  heart- 
less and  soulless  machine,  which  has  accidentally 
deposited  them  on  this  planet  not  at  all  to  its 
beautificalion. 

In  short,  M.  de  Be'vallan,  who  had  appointed 
himself  professor  o^  cynicism  to  these  beardless 
routs,  did  not  please  me,  nor  do  I  think  that  I 
pleased  him.  I  retired  very  early  on  the  ground 
of  fatigue. 

73 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

At  my  request  old  Alain  procured  a  lantern 
and  guided  me  across  the  park  to  my  future  quar- 
ters. After  a  few  minutes'  walk,  we  crossed  a 
wooden  bridge  over  a  stream  and  found  ourselves 
in  front  of  a  massive  arched  doorway,  flanked  by 
two  small  towers.  It  was  the  entrance  to  the 
ancient  chateau.  A  ring  of  aged  oak  and  pine 
shut  in  this  feudal  fragment,  and  gave  it  an  air  of 
profound  seclusion.  It  is  in  this  ruin  that  I  am 
to  live.  My  apartments  run  above  the  door  from 
one  of  the  towers  to  the  other,  and  consist  of 
three  rooms  very  neatly  hung  with  chintz.  I  am 
not  displeased  with  this  gloomy  abode  ;  it  suits 
my  fortunes.  As  soon  as  I  had  got  rid  of 
Alain  I  began  to  write  the  account  of  this  event- 
ful day,  breaking  off  occasionally  to  listen  to  the 
gentle  murmur  of  the  stream  under  my  window, 
and  to  the  call  of  the  legendary  owl  celebrating 
his  doleful  loves  in  the  neighbouring  woods. 

July  ist. 

I  must  now  try  to  pick  up  the  thread  of  my 
personal  and  private  life,  which  for  the  past  two 
months  has  been  somewhat  lost  among  the  daily 
duties  of  my  post. 

The  day  after  my  arrival  I  stayed  at  home  for 
some  hours,  studying  the  ledgers  and  papers  of 

74 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

my  predecessor,  le  pere  Hivart,  as  they  call  him 
here.  I  lunched  at  the  chateau,  where  only  a  few 
of  last  night's  guests  remained.  Mme.  Laroque 
had  lived  a  great  deal  in  Paris  before  her  father-in- 
law's  health  condemned  her  to  perpetual  rusticity. 
In  her  retirement  she  had  kept  her  taste  for  the 
culture,  elegance,  or  frivolity  which  had  centred 
in  the  Rue  du  Bac  when  Mme.  de  Stael  and  her 
turban  held  sway.  She  had  also  visited  most 
of  the  large  cities  of  Europe,  and  had  brought 
away  from  them  an  interest  in  literature  far  ex- 
ceeding the  ordinary  Parisian  curiosity  and  eru- 
dition. She  read  a  great  many  newspapers  and 
reviews,  and  endeavoured  to  follow,  as  far  as  it 
was  possible  at  such  a  distance,  the  movement  of 
that  refined  civilization  of  which  museums  and 
new  books  are  the  more  or  less  ephemeral  fruit 
and  flowers.  We  were  talking  at  lunch  about  a 
new  opera,  and  Mme.  Laroque  asked  M.  de  Beval- 
lan  a  question  about  it  which  he  could  not  answer, 
although  he  professes  to  be  well  informed  of  all 
that  takes  place  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens. 
Mme.  Laroque  then  turned  to  me  with  an  air  that 
showed  how  little  she  expected  her  man  of  busi- 
ness to  be  acquainted  with  such  matters ;  but  it 
happened,  unfortunately,  that  these  were  the  only 
"  affairs  "  with  which  I  was  familiar.  I  had  heard 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

in  Italy  this  very  opera  which  had  just  been  played 
in  France  for  the  first  time.  The  very  reserve  of 
my  answers  excited  Mme.  Laroque's  curiosity  ; 
she  questioned  me  closely,  and  before  long  put  me 
in  possession  of  all  the  enthusiasms,  souvenirs,  and 
impressions  she  had  got  in  her  travels.  Soon  we 
were  discussing  the  most  celebrated  theatres  and 
galleries  of  the  Continent  like  old  friends,  and 
when  we  left  the  table  our  conversation  was  so 
animated  that,  to  avoid  breaking  the  thread  of  it, 
Mme.  Laroque  almost  unconsciously  took  my  arm. 
We  continued  our  exchange  of  sympathies  in  the 
drawing-room,  Mme.  Laroque  gradually  dropping 
the  kindly,  patronizing  tone  which  had  rather 
grated  on  me  hitherto. 

She  confessed  that  she  was  possessed  by  a 
mania  for  the  theatre,  and  that  she  thought  of  hav- 
ing some  theatricals  at  the  chateau.  She  asked 
my  advice  on  the  management  of  this  amusement, 
and  I  gave  her  some  details  of  particular  plays 
that  I  had  seen  in  Paris  and  St.  Petersburg. 
Then,  as  I  had  no  intention  of  abusing  her  good- 
nature, I  rose  quickly,  saying  that  I  meant  to  in- 
augurate my  work  at  once  by  examining  a  large 
farm  about  two  leagues  from  the  chateau.  This 
announcement  seemed  to  fill  Mme.  Laroque  with 
consternation  ;  she  looked  at  me,  fidgeted  among 

76 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

her  cushions,  held  her  hands  to  the  brazier,  and  at 
last  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter  ?  You  can  put 
it  off." 

And  as  I  insisted,  she  replied  with  comical 
embarrassment  : 

"  But  you  cannot ;  the  roads  are  horrible.  .  .  . 
You  must  wait  for  the  fine  weather." 

"  No,  madame,"  I  said,  smiling,  "  I  will  not 
wait  a  minute  ;  if  I  am  to  be  your  bailiff  I  must 
look  after  your  affairs." 

"  Madame,"  said  old  Alain,  who  had  come  in, 
"  M.  Odiot  could  have  le  plre  Hivarfs  old  gig  ;  it 
is  not  on  springs,  but  it's  all  the  more  solid  for 
that." 

Mme.  Laroque  darted  a  withering  glance  at 
the  miserable  Alain  for  daring  to  suggest  le  plre 
Hivarfs  gig  to  an  agent  who  had  been  to  the 
Grand  Duchess  Helene's  theatricals. 

"Wouldn't  the  buggy  be  able  to  do  it, 
Alain  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  buggy,  madame  ?  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  be- 
lieve it  could  get  into  the  lane,  and  if  it  did,  it 
would  certainly  not  come  out  whole." 

I  declared  that  I  could  walk  easily. 

"  No,  no,"  declared  Mme.  Laroque  ;  "  that's 
impossible.  I  couldn't  allow  it.  Let  me  see  ... 

77 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

We  have  half  a  dozen  horses  here  doing  nothing ; 
but  perhaps  you  don't  ride  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  ride,  but — you  really  need  not — I  am 
going  to 

"  Alain,  get  a  horse  saddled  for  M.  Odiot.  .  .  . 
Which  do  you  suggest,  Marguerite  ? " 

"  Give  him  Proserpine,"  whispered  M.  de  Be*- 
vallan  maliciously. 

"  Oh,  no !  not  Proserpine,"  declared  Mar- 
guerite. 

"  And  why  not  Proserpine?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  she'd  throw  you,"  said  the  girl 
frankly. 

"  Oh,  would  she  ?  Really  ?  May  I  ask,  mad- 
emoiselle, if  you  ride  her  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,  but  she  gives  me  some  trouble." 

"  Oh,  well,  perhaps  she'll  give  you  less  when 
I've  ridden  her  once  or  twice  !  That  decides  me. 
Have  Proserpine  saddled,  Alain." 

Mile.  Marguerite's  dark  eyebrows  contracted 
as  she  sat  down  with  a  gesture  that  disclaimed  all 
responsibility  for  the  catastrophe  she  foresaw. 

"  If  you  want  spurs,"  said  M.  de  B^vallan, 
who  evidently  did  not  mean  me  to  return  alive, 
"  I  have  a  pair  at  your  service." 

Without  appearing  to  notice  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite's reproachful  look  at  the  obliging  gentle- 

73 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

man,  I  accepted  his  offer.  Five  minutes  later  a 
frantic  scuffling  announced  the  approach  of  Pros- 
erpine, who  was  brought  with  some  difficulty  to 
one  of  the  flights  of  steps  under  the  private 
garden.  She  was  a  fine  half-bred,  as  black  as  jet. 
I  at  once  went  down  the  perron.  Some  kind 
people,  with  M.  de  Be*vallan  at  their  head,  fol- 
lowed me  to  the  terrace — from  motives  of  hu- 
manity, no  doubt — and  at  the  same  time  the  three 
windows  of  the  salon  were  opened  for  the  use  of 
the  women  and  old  men.  I  would  willingly  have 
dispensed  with  all  this  publicity,  but  it  could  not 
be  helped,  and  besides,  I  had  very  little  anxiety 
about  the  result  of  this  adventure.  I  might  be  a 
very  young  land  agent,  but  I  was  an  old  horseman 
I  could  scarcely  walk  when  my  father  put  me 
upon  a  horse — to  my  mother's  great  alarm — and 
afterward  he  took  the  greatest  pains  to  render  me 
his  equal  in  an  art  in  which  he  excelled.  Indeed, 
he  had  carried  my  training  to  the  verge  of  extrav- 
agance, sometimes  making  me  put  on  the  heavy 
ancestral  armour  to  perform  my  feats  of  equi- 
tation. 

Proserpine  allowed  me  to  disentangle  the  reins, 
and  even  to  touch  her  neck  without  giving  the 
slightest  sign  of  irritation  ;  but  as  soon  as  she  felt 
my  foot  in  the  stirrup  she  shied  at  once,  and  sent 

79 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

a  volley  of  kicks  above  the  marble  vases  on  the 
staircase ;  then  sat  comfortably  down  on  her  hind- 
quarters and  beat  the  air  with  her  forefeet.  After 
this  she  rested,  quivering  all  over.  "A  bit  fidgety 
to  mount,"  said  the  groom,  with  a  wink. 

"  So  I  see,  my  good  fellow,  but  I  shall  astonish 
her.  See,"  and  at  the  same  time  I  sprang  into  the 
saddle  without  touching  the  stirrup  and  got  my 
seat  before  Proserpine  had  quite  realized  what  had 
happened.  The  instant  after  we  shot  at  a  hard 
gallop  into  the  chestnut  avenue,  followed  by  some 
clapping  of  hands,  which  M.  de  Be"vallan  had  the 
grace  to  start. 

That  evening  I  could  see,  from  the  way 
people  treated  me,  that  this  incident,  trifling  as  it 
was,  had  raised  me  in  the  public  opinion.  Some 
other  talents  of  the  same  sort,  which  I  owed  to  my 
education,  helped  me  to  secure  the  only  kind  of 
consideration  I  wished  for — one  which  respected 
my  personal  dignity.  Besides,  I  made  it  quite  evi- 
dent that  I  should  not  abuse  the  kindness  and  con- 
sideration shown  me,  by  usurping  a  position  in- 
compatible with  my  humble  duties  at  the  chateau. 
I  shut  myself  up  in  my  tower  as  much  as  I  could 
without  being  boorish  ;  in  a  word,  I  kept  strictly 
in  my  place,  so  that  none  should  be  tempted  to 
remind  me  of  it. 

80 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

A  few  days  after  my  arrival,  during  one  of  the 
large  dinners  which  at  that  season  were  of  nearly 
daily  occurrence,  I  heard  the  sous-prtfet  of  the 
neighbouring  little  town,  who  was  sitting  next  to 
the  lady  of  the  house,  ask  her  who  I  was.  Mme. 
Laroque,  who  is  rather  forgetful,  did  not  remem- 
ber that  I  was  quite  close,  and,  nolens  volens,  I 
heard  every  word  of  her  reply. 

"  Please,  don't  ask  me,"  she  said.  "  There's 
some  extraordinary  mystery  about  him.  We  think 
he  must  be  a  prince  in  disguise.  .  .  .  There  are  so 
many  who  like  to  see  the  world  in  this  fashion. 
This  one  has  every  conceivable  talent :  he  rides, 
plays  the  piano,  draws,  and  does  each  to  perfec- 
tion !  .  .  .  Between  ourselves,  my  dear  sous-prtfet% 
I  believe  he  is  a  very  bad  steward,  but  there's  no 
doubt  he  is  a  very  agreeable  man." 

The  sous-prtfet — who  also  is  a  very  agreeable 
man,  or  thinks  he  is,  which  is  just  as  satisfactory 
to  himself — stroked  his  fine  whiskers  with  his 
plump  hand  and  said  sweetly  that  there  were 
enough  beautiful  eyes  in  the  chateau  to  explain 
many  mysteries ;  that  he  quite  understood  the 
steward's  object,  and  that  Love  was  the  legitimate 
father  of  Folly,  and  the  proper  steward  of  the 
Graces.  .  .  .  Then,  changing  his  tone  abruptly, 
he  added : 

81 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  However,  madame,  if  you  have  the  slightest 
anxiety  about  this  person,  I  will  have  him  interro- 
gated to-morrow  by  the  head  constable." 

Mme.  Laroque  protested  against  this  excess 
of  gallantry.  The  conversation  so  far  as  it  con- 
cerned me  went  no  further.  But  I  was  very 
much  annoyed,  not  with  the  sous-pr^fet^  who  had 
greatly  amused  me  ;  but  with  Mme.  Laroque,  who 
seemed  to  have  been  more  than  just  to  my  per- 
sonal qualities,  and  not  sufficiently  convinced  of 
my  official  abilities. 

As  it  happened,  I  had  to  renew  the  lease  of  one 
of  the  larger  farms  on  the  day  following.  The 
business  had  to  be  transacted  with  a  very  astute 
old  peasant,  but,  nevertheless,  I  held  my  own  with 
him,  thanks  to  a  judicious  combination  of  legal 
phraseology  and  diplomatic  reserve.  When  we 
had  agreed  on  the  details,  the  farmer  quietly 
placed  three  roideaux  of  gold  on  my  desk. 
Though  I  did  not  understand  this  payment,  as 
there  was  nothing  due,  I  refrained  from  showing 
any  surprise.  By  some  indirect  questions,  which 
I  asked  as  I  unfolded  the  packets,  I  ascertained 
that  this  sum  was  the  earnest-money  of  the  bar- 
gain; or,  in  other  words,  a  sort  of  bonus  which  the 
farmers  present  to  the  landlord  when  their  leases 
are  renewed. 

82 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

I  had  not  thought  of  claiming  this,  as  I  had 
not  found  it  mentioned  in  the  leases  drawn  up 
by  my  able  predecessor,  which  had  been  my 
models.  For  the  moment  I  drew  no  conclusions 
from  his  silence  on  this  point,  but  when  I  handed 
over  the  windfall  to  Mme.  Laroque  her  surprise 
astonished  me. 

"And  what  is  this?"  she  said. 

I  explained  the  nature  of  the  payment,  and 
had  to  repeat  my  explanation. 

"  And  is  it  a  usual  custom  ?  "  she  continued. 

"  Yes,  madame,  whenever  a  lease  is  renewed." 

"  But,  to  my  knowledge,  there  have  been  ten 
leases  renewed  in  the  last  thirty  years.  .  .  .  How 
is  it  we  never  heard  of  such  a  custom  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say,  madame." 

Mme.  Laroque  fell  into  an  abyss  of  reflec- 
tions, in  which,  perhaps,  she  encountered  the  ven- 
erable shade  of  le  pere  Hivart.  At  length  she 
slightly  shrugged  her  shoulders,  looked  at  me, 
then  at  the  gold,  then  again  at  me,  and  seemed 
to  hesitate.  At  last,  leaning  back  in  her  chair, 
sighing  deeply,  and  speaking  with  a  simplicity 
which  I  greatly  appreciated,  she  said  : 

"Very  well,  monsieur.     Thank  you." 

Mme.  Laroque  had  the  good  taste  not  to 
compliment  me  on  this  instance  of  ordinary 

33 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

honesty ;  but,  none  the  less,  she  conceived  a 
great  idea  of  her  steward's  ability  and  virtues.  A 
few  days  later  I  had  a  proof  of  this.  Her  daugh- 
ter was  reading  an  account  of  a  voyage  to  "the 
pole  to  her,  in  which  an  extraordinary  bird  is 
mentioned — "  qui  ne  vole  pas"  * 

"  Like  my  steward,"  she  said. 

I  sincerely  believe  that  from  this  time  my 
devotion  to  the  work  I  had  undertaken  gave  me 
a  claim  to  a  more  positive  commendation.  Soon 
afterward,  when  I  went  to  see  my  sister  in  Paris, 
M.  Laube"pin  thanked  me  warmly  for  having  so 
creditably  redeemed  the  pledges  he  had  given  on 
my  behalf. 

"  Courage,  Maxime,"  he  said.  "  We  shall  give 
Helene  her  dowry.  The  poor  child  will  not  have 
noticed  anything  unusual,  and  you,  my  friend, 
will  have  nothing  to  regret.  Believe  me,  you 
possess  what  in  this  world  comes  nearest  to  hap- 
piness, and  I  am  sure  you  will  always  possess  it, 
thank  Heaven  !  It  is  a  peaceful  conscience  and 
the  manly  serenity  of  a  soul  devoted  to  duty." 

The  old  man  is  right,  of  course.  I  am  at 
peace,  but  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  happy.  My 
soul  is  not  yet  ripe  for  the  austere  delights  of 

*  "  Which  does  not  Jfy."  But  the  French  verb  voler  is  also  to 
steal  \  hence  the  application. 

84 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

sacrifice  ;  it  has  its  outbursts  of  youthfulness  and 
of  despair.  My  life  is  no  longer  my  own  :  it  is 
devoted  and  consecrated  to  a  weaker,  dearer  life ; 
it  has  no  future  :  it  is  imprisoned  in  a  cloister  that 
will  never  be  opened.  My  heart  must  not  beat, 
my  brain  must  not  think,  save  for  another.  So 
be  it  !  May  Helene  be  happy  !  Years  are  steal- 
ing upon  me.  May  they  come  quickly  !  I  pray 
that  they  will ;  the  coldness  that  comes  with  them 
will  strengthen  my  courage. 

Besides,  I  cannot  complain  of  a  situation 
which  has,  in  fact,  fallen  agreeably  short  of  my 
worst  forebodings,  and  has  even  surpassed  my 
brightest  expectations.  My  work,  my  frequent 
journeys  into  the  neighbouring  departments,  and 
my  love  of  solitude,  often  keep  me  away  from 
the  chateau,  where  I  particularly  avoid  all  the 
more  festive  gatherings.  And  perhaps  it  is  be- 
cause I  go  to  them  so  seldom  that  I  am  welcomed 
so  kindly.  Mme.  Laroque,  in  particular,  shows 
a  real  affection  for  me  ;  she  makes  me  the  con- 
fidant of  her  curious  and  perfectly  sincere  fancies 
about  poverty,  sacrifice,  and  poetic  abnegation, 
which  form  such  an  amusing  contrast  to  the  chilly 
Creole's  multitudinous  contrivances  for  comfort. 

Sometimes  she  envies  the  gipsies  carrying 
their  children  on  a  wretched  cart  along  the 

85 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

roads,  and  cooking  their  food  under  hedges ; 
sometimes  it  is  the  Sisters  of  Charity ;  some- 
times the  cantinikres,  whose  heroic  work  she 
longs  to  share. 

And  she  never  ceases  to  lament  the  late  M. 
Laroque's  admirable  health,  which  prevented  his 
wife  from  showing  that  nature  had  meant  her  for 
a  sick-nurse.  Nevertheless,  she  has  lately  had 
fixed  to  her  chair  a  kind  of  niche  like  a  sentry- 
box,  as  a  protection  from  draughts.  The  other 
morning  I  found  her  triumphantly  installed  in 
this  kiosk,  where  she  really  awaits  her  martyr- 
dom in  considerable  comfort. 

I  have  scarcely  less  reason  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  other  inhabitants  of  the  chateau.  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite, who  is  always  plunged  like  a  Nubian 
sphinx  in  some  mysterious  vision,  nevertheless 
condescends  to  treat  me  to  my  favourite  airs  with 
the  utmost  good-nature.  She  has  a  fine  contralto 
voice,  which  she  uses  with  perfect  art,  but  at  the 
same  time  with  an  indifference  and  coldness 
which  I  think  must  be  deliberate.  Sometimes,  in 
an  unguarded  moment,  I  have  heard  her  tones 
become  impassioned,  but  almost  immediately  she 
has  returned  to  an  icy  correctness,  as  if  ashamed 
of  the  lapse  from  her  character  or  from  her  role. 

A   few  games   of   piquet   with    M.   Laroque, 

86 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

which  I  had  the  tact  to  lose,  won  me  the  favour 
of  the  poor  ol'd  man.  Sometimes  I  find  his  dim 
and  feeble  gaze  fixed  on  me  with  strange  intent- 
ness,  as  if  some  dream  of  the  past,  some  fanciful 
resemblance,  had  half  revived  among  the  mists  of 
an  exhausted  memory,  in  which  the  images  of 
a  century  hover  confusedly. 

They  actually  wanted  to  return  me  the  money 
I  lost  to  him.  Mme.  Aubry,  who  usually  plays 
with  the  old  captain,  accepts  these  restitutions 
without  scruple  ;  but  this  does  not  prevent  her 
from  winning  pretty  frequently,  on  which  occa- 
sions she  has  furious  encounters  with  the  old 
corsair.  M.  Laube"pin  was  lenient  when  he 
described  this  lady  merely  as  embittered.  I  have 
no  liking  for  her,  but,  out  of  consideration  for  the 
others,  I  have  made  an  effort  to  gain  her  good- 
will, and  have  succeeded  in  doing  so  by  listening 
patiently  first  to  her  lamentations  over  her  pres- 
ent position,  and  then  to  her  impressive  descrip- 
tion of  her  former  grandeur,  her  silver,  her  furni- 
ture, her  lace,  and  her  gloves. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  I  have  come  to  the 
right  school  to  learn  to  despise  the  advantages  I 
have  lost.  Every  one  here  by  their  attitude  and 
language  eloquently  exhorts  me  to  the  contempt 
of  riches.  Firstly,  Mme.  Aubry,  who  might  be 

87 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

aptly  compared  to  those  shameless  gluttons  whose 
greediness  takes  away  one's  appetite,  and  who 
disgust  one  with  the  dishes  they  praise ;  the  old 
man,  perishing  as  sadly  among  his  millions  as 
Job  on  his  dunghill ;  the  good  woman,  romantic 
and  blas^  who  in  the  midst  of  her  inopportune 
prosperity  dreams  of  the  forbidden  fruit  of  suffer- 
ing ;  and  lastly,  the  haughty  Marguerite,  who 
wears  like  a  crown  of  thorns  the  diadem  of 
beauty  and  opulence  which  Heaven  has  forced 
on  her  brow.  A  strange  girl ! 

Nearly  every  fine  morning  I  see  her  ride  past 
the  windows  of  my  belfry ;  she  bows  gravely  to 
me,  the  black  plume  of  her  felt  riding  hat  dip- 
ping and  waving  in  the  wind ;  and  then  she 
slowly  disappears  along  the  shaded  path  that  runs 
trough  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  chateau.  Some- 
times old  Alain  follows  her,  and  sometimes  her 
only  companion  is  the  huge  and  faithful  Mervyn, 
who  strides  at  the  side  of  his  beautiful  mistress 
like  a  pensive  bear.  So  attended,  she  covers  all 
the  country  round  on  her  errands  of  charity. 
She  does  not  need  a  protector,  for  there  is  not  a 
cottage  within  six  leagues  where  she  is  not  known 
and  worshipped  as  the  goddess  of  good  works. 
The  poor  people  call  her  "  Mademoiselle,"  as  if 
they  were  speaking  of  one  of  those  daughters  of 

88 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

kings  who  give  poetry  to  their  legends,  and  whose 
beauty  and  power  and  mystery  they  recognise 
in  her. 

I,  meanwhile,  am  seeking  the  key  to  the  som- 
bre preoccupation  that  clouds  her  brow,  the 
haughty  and  defiant  severity  of  her  eyes,  the  cold 
bitterness  of  her  tongue.  I  ask  myself  if  these 
are  the  natural  traits  of  a  strange  and  complex 
character,  or  the  symptoms  of  some  secret  suffer- 
ing, remorse,  or  fear,  or  love,  which  preys  on  this 
noble  heart.  However  slightly  one  may  be  inter- 
ested in  the  question,  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  a 
certain  curiosity  about  a  person  so  remarkable. 
Last  night,  while  old  Alain,  with  whom  I  am  a 
favourite,  was  serving  my  solitary  repast,  I  said  : 

"  Well,  Alain,  it's  been  a  lovely  day.  Have 
you  been  riding  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  this  morning,  with  mademoiselle." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ! " 

"  You  must  have  seen  us  go  by,  sir." 

"  Very  likely.  I  sometimes  do  see  you  pass. 
You  look  well  on  horseback,  Alain." 

"  You're  very  kind,  sir.  But  mademoiselle 
looks  better  than  I  do." 

"  She  is  a  very  beautiful  young  lady." 

"  You're  right,  sir,  and  she's  fair  inside  as  well 
as  outside.  Just  like  her  mother.  I'll  tell  you 

89  6— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

something,  sir.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  this 
property  belonged  to  the  last  Comte  de  Castennec, 
whom  I  had  the  honour  of  serving.  When  the 
Laroques  bought  the  chateau  I  must  own  that  I 
was  rather  upset,  and  not  inclined  to  stay  with  the 
new  people.  I  had  been  brought  up  to  respect 
the  nobility,  and  it  went  against  my  feelings  to 
live  with  people  of  no  birth.  You  may  have  no- 
ticed, sir,  that  I  am  glad  to  wait  upon  you ;  that 
is  because  I  think  you  look  like  a  gentleman. 
Are  you  quite  sure  you  don't  belong  to  the  nobil- 
ity, sir  ? " 

"  Quite  sure,  my  poor  Alain." 

"  Well,  it's  of  no  consequence,  sir,  and  this  is 
what  I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  said  Alain,  with  a 
graceful  inclination.  "  In  the  service  of  these 
ladies  I  have  learned  that  nobility  of  the  heart 
is  as  good  as  the  other,  more  especially  that  of  the 
Comte  de  Castennec,  who  had  a  weakness  for 
beating  his  servants.  Still,  sir,  it's  a  great  pity 
mademoiselle  cannot  marry  a  gentleman  with  a 
fine  old  name.  Then  she  would  be  perfect." 

"  But,  Alain,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  only  de- 
pends on  herself." 

"  If  you  refer  to  M.  de  Be>allan,  sir,  it  cer- 
tainly does,  for  he  asked  for  her  more  than  six 
months  ago.  Madame  was  not  opposed  to  the 

90 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

marriage,  and,  in  fact,  after  the  Laroques,  M.  de 
Be'vallan  is  the  richest  man  hereabouts ;  but 
mademoiselle,  though  she  didn't  positively  refuse, 
wanted  time  to  think  the  matter  over." 

"  But  if  she  loves  M.  de  Be'vallan,  and  can 
marry  him  whenever  she  likes,  why  is  she  always 
so  sad  and  thoughtful  ? " 

"  It's  very  true,  sir,  that  mademoiselle  has 
changed  a  good  deal  in  the  last  two  or  three  years. 
Before  that  she  was  as  merry  as  a  bird ;  now  she 
seems  to  have  something  on  her  mind,  but,  if  I 
may  say  so,  it  is  not  love  for  this  gentleman." 

"  You  don't  seem  very  fond  of  M.  de  Be'vallan 
yourself,  Alain.  But  his  family  is  excellent." 

"  That  does  not  prevent  him  from  being  a  bad 
lot,  sir,  always  running  after  the  country  girls,  and 
for  no  good  either.  And  if  you  used  your  eyes, 
sir,  you  might  see  that  he  is  quite  ready  to  play 
the  sultan  here  in  the  chateau  itself  while  he's 
waiting  for  something  better." 

After  a  significant  pause  Alain  went  on. 

"  Pity  you  haven't  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
a  year,  sir." 

"And  why,  Alain?" 

"  Because  .  .  ."  and  Alain  shook  his  head 
thoughtfully. 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

July  25th. 

During  the  past  month  I  have  made  one 
friend  and  two  enemies.  The  enemies  are  Mile. 
Marguerite  and  Mile.  He"louin.  The  friend  is  a 
maiden  lady  of  eighty-eight.  Scarcely  a  compen. 
sation  !  I  will  first  make  up  my  account  with 
Mile.  HeUouin,  an  ungrateful  young  lady.  What 
she  considers  my  offences  should  rather  have  se- 
cured her  esteem.  But  she  is  one  of  the  many 
women  who  do  not  care  either  to  give,  or  to  in- 
spire, such  a  commonplace  sentiment.  From  the 
first  I  had  been  inclined  to  establish  friendly  rela- 
tions with  her.  The  governess  and  the  steward 
were  on  a  similar  footing ;  we  had  a  common 
ground  in  our  subordinate  posi-;..on  at  the  chateau. 
I  have  always  tried  to  show  to  ladies  in  her  posi- 
tion the  consideration  which  seems  to  me  due  to 
those  in  circumstances  so  precarious,  humiliating, 
and  hopeless.  Besides,  Mile.  Helouin  is  pretty, 
intelligent,  and  accomplished,  though  she  rather 
deducts  from  these  qualities  by  the  exaggerated 
liveliness  of  manner,  the  feverish  coquetry,  and 
the  tinge  of  pedantry  which  are  the  failings  of  her 
profession. 

I  do  not  claim  any  credit  for  my  chivalrous  at- 
titude towards  her.  It  seemed  to  me  a  sort  of 
duty  when,  as  various  hints  had  warned  me,  I  be- 

Q2 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

came  aware  that  a  devouring  lion  in  the  semblance 
of  King  Francis  I  was  prowling  round  my  young 
protegte.  This  duplicity,  which  did  credit  to  M. 
de  Be"vallan's  audacity,  was  carried  on,  under  cover 
of  a  friendly  interest,  with  an  astuteness  and  confi- 
dence well  calculated  to  deceive  the  careless  and 
unsuspecting.  Mme.  Laroque  and  her  daughter, 
especially,  are  too  little  acquainted  with  the  wick- 
edness of  this  world,  and  too  little  in  touch  with 
realities  to  have  the  slightest  suspicion.  For  my 
own  part,  I  was  angry  with  this  insatiable  lady- 
killer,  and  did  my  best  to  spoil  his  plans.  More 
than  once  I  secured  the  attention  he  desired  to 
monopolize ;  and  I  tried  more  especially  to  coun- 
teract or  diminish  the  bitter  sense  of  neglect  and 
isolation,  which  makes  women  in  Mile.  Helouin's 
position  ready  to  accept  the  kind  of  consolation 
which  was  being  offered  to  her.  Have  I  ever 
throughout  this  ill-advised  contest  outstepped  the 
delicate  limits  of  brotherly  protection  ?  I  think 
not.  The  very  words  of  the  brief  dialogue  which 
has  suddenly  altered  the  character  of  our  rela- 
tions bear  witness  to  my  discretion.  One  even- 
ing last  week  we  were  taking  the  air  on  the  ter- 
race. During  the  day  I  had  had  occasion  to 
show  some  kindly  attention  to  Mile.  He"louin, 
and  she  now  took  my  arm  and  said,  as  she 

93 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

bit  at  an  orange-blossom  with  her  small  white 
teeth  : 

"  M.  Maxime,  you  are  very  good  to  me." 

Her  voice  was  a  little  unsteady. 

"  I  hope  so,  mademoiselle." 

"  You  are  a  true  friend." 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"  But  what  kind  of  a  friend  ?" 

"  A  true  friend,  as  you  say." 

"  A  friend  who — loves  me  ?  " 

"  Surely." 

"Much?" 

"  Most  decidedly." 

"  Passionately  ? " 

"No." 

At  this  word,  which  I  uttered  very  clearly  and 
with  a  steady  look,  Mile.  Helouin  flung  the 
orange-blossom  away  and  dropped  my  arm.  Since 
this  unlucky  hour  I  have  been  treated  with  a  con- 
tempt I  do  not  deserve,  and  I  should  have  been 
convinced  that  friendship  between  man  and 
woman  is  a  mere  illusion,  if  I  had  not  had  on  the 
following  day  something  like  an  antithesis  to  this 
adventure. 

I  had  gone  to  spend  the  evening  at  the  cha- 
teau, and  as  the  two  or  three  families  who  had 
been  staying  there  for  the  last  fortnight  had  left 

94 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

in  the  morning,  I  met  only  the  habituts — the  cure*, 
the  tax-collector,  Dr.  Desmarets,  and  General  de 
Saint-Cast  and  his  wife,  who,  like  the  doctor, 
lived  at  the  neighbouring  little  town. 

When  I  came  in,  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast,  who 
had  apparently  brought  her  husband  a  handsome 
fortune,  was  in  close  conversation  with  Mme. 
Aubry.  As  usual,  these  ladies  were  in  perfect 
agreement.  In  language  in  which  distinction  of 
form  rivalled  elevation  of  thought,  they,  like  two 
shepherds  in  an  eclogue,  alternately  lauded  the  in- 
comparable charms  of  wealth. 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,  madame,"  said  Mme. 
Aubry.  "  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world 
worth  having,  and  that  is  money.  When  I  had 
money  I  utterly  despised  every  one  who  had  not, 
and  now  I  think  it  quite  natural  for  people  to  de- 
spise me,  and  I  don't  complain  if  they  do." 

"  No  one  despises  you  on  that  account, 
madame,"  replied  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast,  "  most 
certainly  not ;  but  all  the  same  there's  a  very  great 
difference  between  poverty  and  riches,  I  must 
confess,  as  the  general  knows  well  enough.  Why. 
he  had  absolutely  nothing  when  I  married  him — 
except  his  sword — and  one  doesn't  get  fat  on  a 
sword,  does  one,  madame?" 

"No,  no,  indeed,  madame!"  exclaimed  Mme. 
95 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Aubry,  delighted  with  this  bold  metaphor. 
"  Honour  and  glory  are  all  very  well  in  novels, 
but  a  nice  carriage  is  much  better  in  practice,  isn't 
it,  madame  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,  madame  ;  and  that's  just  what 
I  was  saying  to  the  general  this  morning  as  we 
came  here.  Isn't  it,  general  ?  " 

"Eh,  what?"  growled  the  general,  who  was 
playing  cards  in  a  corner  with  the  old  corsair. 

"You  hadn't  a  penny  when  I  married  you, 
general,  had  you?"  continued  Mme.  de  Saint- 
Cast.  "  You  won't  think  of  denying  that,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  We've  heard  it  often  enough,  I  should  say," 
growled  the  general. 

"That  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me,  general,  you'd  have  had  to  travel  on 
foot,  and  that  wouldn't  have  been  a  fine  thing  for 
you  with  your  wounds.  Your  half-pay  of  six  or 
seven  hundred  francs  wouldn't  have  kept  a  car- 
riage for  you,  my  friend.  I  was  saying  this  to 
him  to-day  apropos  of  our  new  carriage,  which  is 
as  easy  as  an  arm-chair.  Of  course  I  paid  a  good 
price  for  it ;  it's  four  thousand  francs  out  of  my 
pocket,  madame." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,  madame.  My  best  car- 
riage cost  me  fully  five  thousand,  including  the 

96 


tiger-skin  mat,  which  was  worth  five  hundred  francs 
alone." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast;  "but  I 
have  had  to  be  a  little  careful,  for  I've  just  been 
getting  new  drawing-room  furniture  ;  the  carpet 
and  curtains  alone  cost  me  fifteen  thousand  francs. 
You'll  say  it's  too  good  for  a  country  hole  like 
this.  You're  right.  But  the  whole  town  is  lost 
in  admiration,  and,  after  all,  one  does  like  to  be 
respected,  madame  ! " 

"  Of  course,  madame,"  replied  Mme.  Aubry, 
"we  like  to  be  respected,  and  we  are  respected 
according  to  the  money  we  have.  For  my  part,  I 
console  myself  for  not  being  respected  now,  by 
remembering  that  if  I  were  as  well  off  as  I  once 
was,  I  should  see  all  the  people  who  despise  me  at 
my  feet  again." 

"  Except  me,  by  God  ! "  cried  Dr.  Desmarets, 
jumping  up.  "  You  might  have  a  hundred  mil- 
lions a  year,  and  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour 
you  wouldn't  see  me  at  your  feet  !  And  now  I'll 
go  and  get  some  air,  for,  devil  take  me,  if  one  can 
breathe  here ! " 

So  saying,  the  honest  doctor  left  the  room,  and 
my  heart  went  out  to  him  for  the  outburst  that 
had  relieved  my  own  sense  of  disgust  and  indig- 
nation, 

97 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Although  M.  Desmarets  was  received  at  the 
house  as  a  Chrysostom  to  whom  great  license  of 
speech  was  allowed,  his  language  had  been  so  for- 
cible that  it  had  produced  a  certain  embarrassment 
in  the  company,  and  an  awkward  silence  ensued. 
Mme.  Laroque  broke  it  adroitly  by  asking  her 
daughter  whether  it  was  eight  o'clock. 

"  It  can't  be,  mother,"  replied  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite, "for  Mile,  de  Porhoet  has  not  come 
yet." 

The  minute  after,  as  the  clock  struck,  the  door 
opened,  and  Mile.  Jocelynde  de  Porhoet-Gael  en- 
tered the  room,  with  astronomical  punctuality,  on 
the  arm  of  Dr.  Desmarets. 

Mile,  de  Porhoet-Gael,  who  had  this  year 
seen  her  eighty-eighth  spring,  and  whose  appear- 
ance suggested  a  tall  reed  wrapped  in  silk,  is  the 
last  scion  of  a  noble  race,  whose  earliest  ancestors 
must  be  sought  among  the  legendary  kings  of 
ancient  Armorica.  Of  this  house,  however,  there 
is  no  authentic  record  in  history  until  the  twelfth 
century,  when  Juthai'l,  son  of  Conan  le  Tort,  who 
belonged  to  the  younger  branch  of  the  reigning 
family  of  Brittany,  is  mentioned.  Some  drops  of 
the  Porhoet  blood  have  mingled  with  that  of  the 
most  illustrious  veins  of  France — those  of  the 
Rohans,  the  Lusignans,  the  Penthievres,  and  these 

98 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

grands  seigneurs  had  admitted  that  it  was  not  the 
least  pure  of  their  blood.  I  remember  that  when 
in  a  fit  of  youthful  vanity  I  studied  the  alliances 
of  my  family,  I  noticed  the  strange  name  of  Por- 
hoet,  and  that  my  father,  who  was  very  learned  in 
such  matters,  spoke  highly  in  its  praise.  Mile,  de 
Porhoet,  who  is  now  the  sole  bearer  of  the  name, 
had  always  refused  to  marry,  because  she  wished 
to  preserve  as  long  as  possible  in  the  firmament 
of  the  French  nobility  the  constellation  of  those 
magic  syllables,  Porhoet-Gael.  It  happened  one 
day  that  the  origin  of  the  house  of  Bourbon  was 
referred  to  in  her  presence. 

"  The  Bourbons,"  said  Mile,  de  Porhoet,  stick- 
ing her  knitting-needle  into  her  blond  peruke, 
"  the  Bourbons  are  a  good  family,  but  "  (with  an 
air  of  modesty)  "  there  are  better." 

However,  it  is  impossible  not  to  render  hom- 
age to  this  august  old  lady,  who  bears  with  sur- 
prising dignity  the  heavy  and  triple  majesty  of 
birth,  age,  and  misfortune.  A  wretched  lawsuit  in 
some  foreign  country  which  she  has  persisted  in 
carrying  on  for  fifteen  years,  has  gradually  reduced 
a  fortune,  which  was  but  small  to  begin  with  ;  and 
now  she  has  scarcely  a  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Privation  has  not  broken  her  pride  or  embittered 
her  temper.  She  is  gay,  good-humoured,  and 

99 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

courteous.  She  lives,  no  one  quite  knows  how, 
in  her  small  house  with  her  little  servant,  and  con- 
trives even  to  find  money  for  charity.  To  their 
great  honour,  Mme.  Laroque  and  her  daughter 
are  devoted  to  their  poor  and  noble  neighbour. 
At  their  house  she  is  treated  with  a  respectful  at- 
tention which  amazes  Mme.  Aubry.  I  have  often 
seen  Mile.  Marguerite  leave  the  gayest  dance  to 
make  a  fourth  for  Mile,  de  Porhoet's  rubber,  for 
the  world  would  come  to  an  end  if  Mile,  de  Por- 
hoet's whist  (halfpenny  points)  was  omitted  for  a 
single  day.  I  am  one  of  the  old  lady's  favourite 
partners,  and  on  this  particular  evening  soon 
found  myself,  with  the  cure"  and  the  doctor,  seated 
at  the  whist-table  with  the  descendant  of  Conan 
le  Tort. 

I  ought  to  mention  here  that  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  last  century  a  grand-uncle  of 
Mile,  de  Porhoet,  who  held  an  office  in  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Duke  d'Anjou,  crossed  the  Pyr- 
enees in  the  suite  of  the  young  prince,  who  be- 
came Philip  V,  settled  in  Spain,  and  prospered 
there.  His  posterity  became  extinct  about  fif- 
teen years  ago,  and  Mile,  de  Porhoet,  who  had 
never  lost  sight  of  her  Spanish  relatives,  at 
once  declared  herself  heiress  to  their  considera- 
ble property.  Her  claims  were  contested,  only 

100 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

too  justly,  I  fear,  by  one  of  the  oldest  Castil- 
ian  families  allied  to  the  Spanish  branch  of  the 
Porhoets. 

Hence  the  lawsuit  which  the  unfortunate 
octogenarian  maintained  at  great  expense,  going 
from  court  to  court  with  a  persistence  akin  to 
mania,  which  her  friends  deplored  and  other  peo- 
ple ridiculed.  Dr.  Desmarets,  despite  his  respect 
for  Mile,  de  Porhoet,  belongs  to  the  party  who 
laughs  ;  more  particularly,  because  he  strongly 
disapproves  of  the  use  to  which  the  poor  lady  has 
prospectively  devoted  her  fictitious  heritage.  She 
intends  to  build  in  the  neighbouring  town  a 
cathedral  in  the  richest  flamboyant  style,  which 
shall  perpetuate  the  name  of  the  foundress  and  of 
a  great  departed  race  to  all  future  generations. 
This  cathedral — dream  begotten  of  a  dream  ! — is 
the  harmless  hobby  of  the  old  lady.  She  has  had 
the  plans  made ;  she  spends  her  days  and  some- 
times her  nights  brooding  on  its  splendours,  alter- 
ing its  arrangements,  or  adding  to  its  decoration. 
She  speaks  of  it  as  already  existent :  "  I  was  in 
the  nave  of  my  cathedral  ;  to-night  I  noticed 
something  very  ugly  in  the  north  aisle  of  my 
cathedral  ;  I  have  altered  the  uniform  of  the 
suisse ;"  etc.,  etc. 

"  Well,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  doctor,  shuf- 

IOJ 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

fling  the  cards,  "  have  you  been  working  at  the 
cathedral  since  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  have,  doctor ;  and  I've  had 
a  rather  happy  idea.  I  have  replaced  the  solid 
wall,  which  you  know  separates  the  choir  from 
the  sacristy,  by  a  screen  of  carved  foliage  in  imi- 
tation of  the  Clisson  chapel  in  the  church  at  Jos- 
selin.  It  is  much  lighter." 

"  No  doubt ;  but  in  the  meanwhile  what  is 
the  news  from  Spain  ?  Can  it  be  true,  as  I  think 
I  saw  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  this  morn- 
ing, that  the  young  duke  of  Villa-Hermosa  pro- 
poses to  put  an  end  to  the  case  in  a  friendly  way, 
by  offering  to  marry  you  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Porhoet  disdainfully  shook 
the  plume  of  faded  ribbons  attached  to  her  cap. 

"  I  should  refuse  absolutely,"  she  said. 

"Ah,  yes,  you  say  so,  mademoiselle  !  But  how 
about  the  guitar  that's  been  heard  under  your  win- 
dows the  last  few  nights  ?  " 

"Bah!" 

"  Bah  ?  And  that  Spaniard  who  has  been 
prowling  about  the  country  in  a  mantle  and  yel- 
low boots,  sighing  as  if  his  heart  would  burst  ?" 

"  You  are  a  feather-head,  Dr.  Desmarets,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Porhoet,  calmly  opening  her 
snuff-box.  "  Still — as  you  wish  to  know — I  may 

102 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

say  that  my  man  of  business  wrote  to  me  from 
Madrid  a  day  or  two  ago  that  with  a  little  more 
patience  we  should  see  the  end  of  all  our  troubles." 

"  I  can  quite  believe  that !  Do  you  know 
where  your  man  of  business  comes  from,  madame  ? 
Straight  from  Gil  Bias'  cavern.  He'll  drain  you 
of  your  last  shilling,  and  then  he'll  laugh  in  your 
face.  How  much  better  it  would  be  to  give  up 
this  folly  for  good  and  all,  and  live  at  ease  quietly  ! 
What  good  will  these  millions  do  you  ?  Aren't 
you  happy  and  respected  .  .  .  what  more  do  you 
want  ?  ...  As  for  your  cathedral,  I  won't  speak 
of  it,  because — it  is  a  bad  joke." 

"  My  cathedral  is  not  a  bad  joke  to  any  but 
bad  jokers,  Dr.  Desmarets ;  besides,  I  am  defend- 
ing my  rights,  I  am  fighting  for  justice ;  the  prop- 
erty belongs  to  me.  I  have  heard  my  father  say 
so  a  hundred  times,  and  never,  with  my  consent, 
shall  it  go  to  people  who  are  actually  as  much 
strangers  to  our  family  as  yourself,  my  friend,  or," 
she  added,  indicating  me,  "this  gentleman." 

I  was  childish  enough  to  resent  this  remark, 
and  at  once  replied  :  "As  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
mademoiselle,  you  are  mistaken  ;  for  my  family 
has  had  the  honour  of  being  allied  to  yours,  and 
"vice  versa." 

At  this  startling  announcement  Mile,  de  Por- 
103 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

hoet  hastily  brought  her  cards,  which  she  held 
spread  out  fanwise,  nearer  to  her  pointed  chin, 
and  straightening  her  spare  figure,  looked  me 
in  the  face  as  if  she  doubted  my  sanity.  By  a 
tremendous  effort  she  recovered  her  self-posses- 
sion, and  said,  as  she  carried  a  pinch  of  Spanish 
snuff  to  her  thin  nose,  "  Young  man,  you  will 
have  to  prove  what  you  say  to  me." 

Ashamed  of  my  foolish  boast,  and  embarrassed 
by  the  attention  it  had  aroused,  I  bowed  awk- 
wardly without  speaking.  Our  rubber  was  played 
in  gloomy  silence.  It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  I  was 
preparing  to  slip  off,  when  Mile,  de  Porhoet 
touched  my  arm. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  ac- 
company me  to  the  end  of  the  avenue  ?  " 

I  bowed  again  and  followed  her  into  the  park. 
The  little  servant  in  Breton  costume  went  first, 
carrying  a  lantern  ;  then  came  Mile,  de  Porhoet, 
stiff  and  silent,  carefully  holding  up  her  worn  silk 
frock  ;  she  had  coldly  declined  the  offer  of  my 
arm,  and  I  walked  humbly  at  her  side,  feeling 
very  much  dissatisfied  with  myself.  After  a  few 
minutes  of  this  funeral  march  the  old  lady  spoke. 

"  Well,  sir  ?"  she  said.  "You  may  speak;  I 
am  waiting.  You  have  asserted  that  your  family 
is  allied  to  mine,  and  as  an  alliance  of  this  kind  is 

104 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

a  piece  of  history  entirely  new  to  me,  I  shall  be 
greatly  obliged  if  you  will  enlighten  me  on  the 
subject." 

I  had  decided  that  I  must  at  all  costs  keep  the 
secret  of  my  incognito. 

"  I  venture  to  hope,  mademoiselle,  that  you 
won't  take  a  mere  joke  quite  seriously." 

"A  joke  !  "  exclaimed  Mile,  de  Porhoet.  "  A 
nice  subject  to  joke  upon  !  And,  sir,  what  do 
you  people  of  to-day  call  the  jokes  that  can  be 
boldly  addressed  to  an  old  and  defenceless  woman, 
but  which  you  would  not  dare  to  utter  in  the 
presence  of  a  man  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  leave  me  no  choice ;  I 
must  trust  to  your  discretion.  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  name  of  Champcey  d'Hauterive  is 
familiar  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  Champcey  d'Hauterives  perfectly 
well,  sir.  They  are  a  good,  an  excellent  Dauphin 
family.  What  inference  am  I  to  make  from  your 
question?" 

"  I  am  the  present  representative  of  that 
family." 

"  You  ! "  exclaimed  Mile,  de  Porhoet,  coming 
to  a  sudden  halt.  "  You  are  a  Champcey  d'Hau- 
terive ? " 

"  Yes,  the  male  representative,  mademoiselle." 
105 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  That  alters  the  question,"  she  said.  "  Give 
me  your  arm,  cousin,  and  tell  me  your  history." 

I  thought  that  in  the  circumstances  it  would 
be  better  not  to  conceal  anything  from  her.  As 
I  finished  the  painful  story  of  my  family  troubles, 
we  found  ourselves  opposite  a  small  house,  re- 
markably low  and  narrow.  On  one  side  stood  a 
kind  of  low  pigeon-house  with  a  pointed  roof. 

"  Enter,  marquis,"  said  the  daughter  of  the 
kings  of  Gael  at  the  threshold  of  her  lowly  palace. 
"  I  beg  that  you  will  enter." 

The  next  moment  I  stepped  into  a  little  salon 
meanly  paved  .with  brick  ;  on  the  faded  tapestry 
of  the  walls  hung  portraits  of  ancestors  gorgeous 
in  ducal  ermine.  Over  the  mantel-piece  sparkled 
a  magnificent  clock  in  tortoise-shell  and  brass,  sur- 
mounted by  a  group  representing  the  chariot  of 
the  sun.  Some  oval-backed  arm-chairs  and  an  old 
spindle-legged  couch  completed  the  furniture  of 
the  room.  Everything  shone  with  cleanliness,  and 
the  air  was  filled  with  mingled  odours  of  iris, 
Spanish  snuff,  and  aromatic  essences. 

"  Pray  be  seated,"  said  the  old  lady,  taking  her 
place  on  the  couch  ;  "  pray  be  seated,  my  cousin. 
I  call  you  cousin,  though  we  are  not  related,  and 
cannot  be,  as  Jeanne  de  Porhoet  and  Hugues  de 
Champcey  were  so  ill-advised  as  to  leave  no  issue. 

1 06 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

But,  with  your  permission,  I  should  like  to  treat 
you  as  a  cousin  when  we  are  alone,  if  only  to 
make  me  forget  for  a  moment  that  I  am  alone  in 
the  world. 

"So,  cousin,  I  see  how  you  are  situated;  the 
case  is  a  hard  one,  most  assuredly.  But  I  will 
suggest  one  or  two  reflections  which  have  solaced 
me,  and  which  I  think  are  likely  to  bring  consola- 
tion to  you. 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  dear  marquis,  I  often 
tell  myself  that  among  all  the  charlatans  and  ex- 
lackeys  one  now  sees  rolling  in  carriages,  poverty 
has  a  peculiar  perfume  of  distinction  and  'good 
taste.  And  also  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
God  has  brought  some  of  us  down  to  a  poor  and 
narrow  life,  that  this  coarse,  materialistic,  money- 
grubbing  age  may  have  before  it  the  type  of  a 
merit,  dignity,  and  splendour  which  owes  nothing 
to  money,  that  money  cannot  buy — that  is  not 
for  sale.  In  all  probability,  my  cousin,  such  is  the 
providential  justification  of  your  situation  and  of 
mine." 

I  conveyed  to  Mile,  de  Porhoet  my  satisfac- 
tion at  having  been  chosen  with  her  to  give  the 
world  the  noble  example  it  needs  so  much,  and 
shows  itself  so  ready  to  profit  by. 

"  For  my  own  part,"  she  went  on,  "  I  am 
107 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

inured  to  privation,  and  I  do  not  feel  it  much. 
When,  in  the  course  of  a  life  that  has  been  too 
long,  one  has  seen  a  father  and  four  brothers, 
worthy  of  their  father,  perish  before  their  time, 
by  sword  or  bullet ;  when  one  has  lost,  one  by 
one,  all  the  objects  of  one's  affection  and  worship, 
one  must  have  a  very  paltry  soul  to  be  much  con- 
cerned about  more  or  less  ample  meals  and  more 
or  less  dainty  clothing.  Certainly,  marquis,  you 
may  be  sure  that  if  my  personal  comfort  only 
were  at  stake,  I  should  not  trouble  about  my 
Spanish  millions;  but  to  me  it  seems  but  right 
and  proper  and  exemplary  that  a  house  like  mine 
should  not  disappear  without  leaving  some  per- 
manent sign,  some  striking  monument  of  its  gran- 
deur and  its  faith.  And  that  is  why,  cousin,  I 
have,  in  imitation  of  some  of  my  ancestors, 
thought  of  the  pious  foundation  of  which  you 
must  have  heard,  and  which,  while  I  have  life, 
I  shall  not  relinquish." 

Assured  of  my  sympathy,  the  noble  old  lady 
seemed  to  lose  herself  in  meditation,  and  as  she 
looked  sadly  at  the  fading  portraits  of  her  ances- 
tors, only  the  beat  of  the  hereditary  clock  broke 
the  silence  of  midnight  in  the  dim  room. 

"  There  will  be,"  Mile,  de  Porhoet  suddenly 
resumed,  in  a  solemn  voice,  "  there  will  be  a  chap- 

108 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

ter  of  regular  canons  attached  to  the  church. 
Each  day  at  matins,  a  mass  will  be  said  in  the  pri- 
vate chapel  of  my  family,  for  the  repose  of  my 
soul  and  the  souls  of  my  ancestors.  The  feet  of 
the  celebrant  priest  will  tread  a  slab  of  unlettered 
marble,  which  will  form  the  step  of  the  altar  and 
cover  my  ashes." 

I  bent  towards  her  with  evident  emotion,  with 
visible  respect.  Mile,  de  Porhoet  took  my  hand 
and  pressed  it  gently. 

"  Cousin,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  mad,  whatever 
they  may  say.  My  father,  who  was  truth  itself, 
always  declared  that  when  the  direct  line  of  our 
Spanish  branch  became  exhausted  we  should  be 
sole  heirs  to  the  estate.  Unfortunately,  his  sud- 
den and  violent  death  prevented  him  from  giving 
us  more  exact  information ;  but,  as  I  cannot  doubt 
his  word,  I  do  not  doubt  my  rights.  However," 
she  added,  after  a  little  pause,  and  in  accents  of 
touching  sadness,  "  if  I  am  not  mad,  I  am  old, 
and  the  people  in  Spain  know  it.  For  fifteen 
years  they  have  dragged  me  on  from  one  delay 
to  another ;  they  are  waiting  for  my  death  to 
finish  everything.  And  .  .  ,  they  will  not  have 
to  wait  long.  Some  morning,  very  soon  now,  I 
must  make  my  last  sacrifice.  My  dear  cathedral 
— my  only  love,  which  has  taken  the  place  of  so 

109 


many  broken  or  suppressed  attachments  —  will 
have  but  one  stone — that  of  my  tomb." 

She  was  silent ;  her  thin  hands  wiped  away 
two  tears  that  flowed  down  her  worn  face,  as, 
striving  to  smile,  she  said  : 

"  Forgive  me,  cousin,  you  have  enough  troubles 
of  your  own.  Besides,  it  is  late — you  must  go. 
You  will  compromise  me  ! " 

Before  leaving,  I  again  recommended  the 
greatest  discretion  in  reference  to  the  secret  I 
had  intrusted  to  her.  She  replied,  a  little  naively, 
that  I  need  not  be  anxious,  and  that  my  peace  of 
mind  and  dignity  were  safe  in  her  hands.  Never- 
theless, during  the  next  few  days,  I  suspected, 
from  Mme.  Laroque's  increased  attentions,  that 
my  excellent  friend  had  handed  on  my  confidence. 
Indeed,  Mile,  de  Porhoet  admitted  the  fact,  de- 
claring that  the  honour  of  her  family  demanded 
this,  and  assured  me  that  Mme.  Laroque  was 
incapable  of  betraying  a  secret  intrusted  to  her, 
even  to  her  own  daughter. 

Our  interview  had  filled  me  with  sympathetic 
respect  for  the  old  lady,  which  I  tried  to  express 
by  my  actions.  The  evening  of  the  next  day  I 
taxed  all  the  resources  of  my  pencil  in  the  inven- 
tion of  decorations,  internal  and  external,  for  her 
beloved  cathedral.  The  attention  seemed  to  please 

no 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

her  very  much,  and  I  soon  got  into  the  habit  of 
working  on  the  cathedral  every  evening  after  our 
whist,  enriching  the  ideal  edifice  with  a  statue,  a 
pulpit,  and  a  rood-loft.  Mile.  Marguerite,  who 
seems  to  feel  a  kind  of  adoration  for  her  old 
neighbour,  associated  herself  with  my  work  of 
charity  by  devoting  a  special  album  to  the  Basilica 
Porhoet,  which  it  is  my  duty  to  fill  with  designs 
and  drawings. 

And  in  addition,  I  offered  my  old  confidant  to 
take  my  share  in  the  inquiries  and  other  matters 
of  business  connected  with  her  lawsuit.  The 
poor  lady  confessed  that  I  should  do  her  a  serv- 
ice ;  that  though  she  could  still  keep  up  her  ordi- 
nary correspondence,  her  sight  was  too  weak  to 
decipher  the  manuscripts  of  her  archives.  Hith- 
erto she  had  not  associated  any  one  with  her 
in  this  important  work,  for  fear  of  giving  more 
occasion  to  the  rustic  humourists.  In  short,  she 
accepted  me  as  counsellor  and  collaborator. 
Since  this,  I  have  conscientiously  studied  the 
voluminous  documents  of  her  lawsuit,  and  I  have 
been  convinced  that  the  case,  which  must  be 
sooner  or  later  definitively  settled,  is  absolutely 
hopeless  from  the  beginning.  M.  Laub6pin 
agrees  with  me  in  this  opinion,  which  as  far  as 
possible  I  have  concealed  from  the  old  lady. 

in 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Meanwhile  I  have  pleased  her  by  going  through 
her  family  archives  piece  by  piece  ;  she  still  hopes 
to  find  among  them  some  incontestable  proof  in 
favour  of  her  claim.  Unfortunately,  the  records 
are  very  copious,  and  fill  the  pigeon-house  from 
floor  to  roof.  Yesterday  I  went  early  to  Mile. 
de  Porhoet's  to  finish  before  lunch  the  examina- 
tion of  packet  No.  115,  which  I  had  begun  over- 
night. The  lady  of  the  house  had  not  risen  yet, 
so,  with  the  help  of  the  little  servant,  I  quietly 
installed  myself  in  the  salon  and  settled  down  to 
my  dusty  work.  About  an  hour  later,  as  I  was 
going  joyfully  through  the  last  sheet  of  packet 
No.  115,  Mile,  de  Porhoet  came  in,  dragging  a 
huge  bundle  neatly  wrapped  up  in  a  white  linen 
cover. 

"  Good-morning,  my  dear  cousin,"  she  said. 
"I've  heard  how  you  have  been  working  for  me 
this  morning,  so  I  determined  to  work  for  you. 
Here  is  packet  No.  116." 

I  must  confess  that  at  this  moment  Mile,  de 
Porhoet  reminded  me  of  the  cruel  fairy  of  folk- 
lore, who  shuts  the  princess  up  in  a  lonely  tower 
and  imposes  a  succession  of  extraordinary  and 
impossible  tasks  on  her. 

"  Last  night,"  she  continued,  "  I  dreamed  that 
the  key  of  my  Spanish  treasure  lay  in  this  packet. 

112 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

So  you  will  very  much  oblige  me  by  examining  it 
at  once.  Afterward  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the 
honour  to  share  a  frugal  repast  in  the  shade  of  my 
arbour." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  I  obeyed,  and  I 
need  not  say  that  the  wonderful  packet  No.  116 
contained,  like  its  predecessors,  nothing  more 
valuable  than  the  dust  of  centuries.  Precisely  at 
noon,  the  old  lady  came  to  offer  me  her  arm  and 
conduct  me  formally  to  a  little  box-bordered  gar- 
den which,  with  a  bit  of  adjoining  meadow,  now 
constitutes  the  sole  domain  of  the  Porhoets. 
The  table  was  set  out  under  an  arched  bower  of 
foliage,  and  through  the  leaves  the  sunshine  of 
a  fine  summer's  day  dappled  the  spotless,  sweet- 
smelling  table-cloth.  I  had  done  justice  to  the 
chicken,  the  fresh  salad,  and  the  bottle  of  old 
Bordeaux,  which  made  up  the  menu  of  the  ban- 
quet, when  Mile,  de  Porhoet,  who  seemed 
charmed  with  my  appetite,  turned  the  conversa- 
tion on  to  the  Laroque  family. 

"  I  will  own,"  she  said  to  me,  "that  I  do  not 
care  for  the  old  buccaneer.  When  he  first  came 
here  he  had  a  large  and  favourite  ape,  which  he 
dressed  up  like  a  servant,  and  which  he  seemed  to 
be  able  to  communicate  with  perfectly.  The  ani- 
mal was  a  nuisance  to  the  whole  country,  and 

H3  7— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

only  a  man  without  education  or  decency  could 
have  kept  it.  I  agreed  when  they  told  me  that 
it  was  an  ape,  but,  as  a  fact,  I  have  always  be- 
lieved that  it  was  a  negro,  more  especially  as  I 
had  always  suspected  its  master  of  having  traf- 
ficked in  that  commodity  in  Africa.  But  M.  La- 
roque,  the  son,  was  a  good  sort  of  man,  and  quite 
a  gentleman.  As  to  the  ladies — I  refer,  of  course, 
to  Mme.  Laroque  and  her  daughter,  and  in  no 
way  to  the  widow  Aubry,  an  extremely  common 
person — as  to  the  ladies,  I  say,  they  deserve  every 
good  thing  one  can  say  of  them." 

Just  then  we  heard  the  hoofs  of  a  horse  on  the 
path  that  runs  outside  the  garden  wall,  and  the 
next  moment  some  one  was  knocking  sharply  at  a 
small  door  near  the  arbour. 

"Yes,"  said  Mile,  de  Porhoet.  "Who  goes 
there?" 

I  looked  up,  and  saw  a  black  plume  above  the 
top  of  the  wall. 

"  Open,"  said  a  gay  voice  outside,  full  of  musi- 
cal intonations.  "  Open.  Tis  the  fortune  of 
France  ! " 

"  What  ?  Is  it  you,  my  darling  ?"  said  the  old 
lady.  "  Quick,  cousin,  run  ! " 

As  I  opened  the  door  Mervyn  rushed  between 
my  legs,  nearly  throwing  me  down.  Mile.  Mar- 

114 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

guerite  was  tying  up  her  horse  to  the  fence  by  his 
reins. 

"  Bonjour,  M.  Odiot,"  she  said,  without  show- 
ing any  surprise  at  finding  me  there.  Throw- 
ing the  long  folds  of  her  habit  over  her  arm,  she 
entered  the  garden. 

"  Welcome  this  lovely  day,  my  lovely  girl ! " 
said  Mile,  de  Porhoet.  "  Kiss  me,  dear.  You've 
been  riding  too  fast,  you  foolish  child.  I  can  tell 
by  your  colour  and  the  fire  that  literally  seems  to 
flash  from  your  eyes.  What  can  I  offer  you,  my 
beauty  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Mile.  Marguerite,  glancing 
at  the  table.  "What  have  you  got?  Has  M. 
Odiot  eaten  up  everything  ?  Not  that  it  matters. 
I  am  thirsty,  not  hungry." 

"  I  utterly  forbid  you  to  drink  while  you're  so 
hot.  But  wait  a  moment ;  there  are  some  straw- 
berries left  in  that  bed." 

"  Strawberries  !  O  gibia ! "  sang  the  girl. 
"  Take  one  of  those  fig-leaves,  M.  Odiot,  and  come 
with  me.  Quick  !  " 

While  I  chose  the  largest  of  the  fig-leaves, 
Mile,  de  Porhoe't  half-closed  one  eye,  and  fol- 
lowed her  favourite  with  the  other,  as  she  walked 
proudly  along  the  sunlit  alley. 

"  Look  at   her,    cousin,"    she   whispered,  with 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

an  approving  smile;  "isn't  she  worthy  to  be  one 
of  us?" 

Meanwhile,  Mile.  Marguerite,  bending  over  the 
bed  and  catching  her  foot  in  her  train  at  every 
step,  greeted  each  strawberry  she  found  with  a 
little  cry  of  delight.  I  kept  near  to  her,  holding 
out  the  fig-leaf,  in  which  she  put  one  strawberry 
for  every  two  she  ate,  to  help  her  to  be  patient. 
When  she  was  satisfied  with  the  harvest  we  re- 
turned in  triumph  to  the  arbour.  The  rest  of  the 
strawberries  were  sprinkled  with  sugar,  and  crushed 
by  the  prettiest  teeth  in  Brittany  with  great  relish. 

"  Oh,  that's  done  me  good  ! "  exclaimed  Mile. 
Marguerite,  throwing  her  hat  on  the  seat  and  lean- 
ing back  against  the  side  of  the  bower.  "And 
now,  dearest  lady,  to  complete  my  happiness,  you're 
going  to  tell  me  stories  of  the  old  days  when  you 
were  a  fair  warrior." 

Mile,  de  Porhoet,  smiling  and  charmed,  needed 
no  pressing,  and  began  to  tell  us  some  of  the 
most  striking  events  of  her  famous  expeditions 
with  Lescure  and  La  Rochefoucauld.  And  on  this 
occasion  my  old  friend  gave  me  another  proof  of 
her  nobility  of  nature,  for  she  paid  her  tribute  to 
the  heroes  of  those  troublous  wars  without  dis- 
tinction of  party.  She  spoke  of  General  Hoche, 
whose  prisoner  she  had  been,  with  almost  tender 

116 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

admiration.  Mile.  Marguerite  listened  with  an 
impassioned  attention  which  surprised  me.  At 
one  moment,  half-buried  in  her  leafy  niche,  her 
long  eyelashes  a  little  lowered,  she  sat  as  motion- 
less as  a  statue  ;  at  another,  when  the  story  became 
more  exciting,  she  put  her  elbows  on  the  table, 
plunged  a  beautiful  hand  into  the  masses  of  her 
loosened  hair,  and  fixed  the  lightning  of  her  bril- 
liant eyes  eagerly  on  the  old  Vendienne. 

Among  the  sweetest  hours  of  my  dull  life,  I 
shall  always  count  those  I  spent  watching  that 
noble  face,  irradiated  by  the  reflections  of  the 
glowing  sky  and  the  impressions  of  a  valiant 
heart. 

When  the  story-telling  was  over,  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite embraced  her  old  friend,  and  waking  up 
Mervyn,  who  was  asleep  at  her  feet,  declared  that 
she  must  return  to  the  chateau.  As  I  was  sure  it 
would  cause  her  no  embarrassment,  I  had  no  hesi- 
tation in  leaving  at  the  same  time.  Apart  from 
my  personal  insignificance  in  the  sight  of  the  rich 
heiress,  Mile.  Laroque  was  quite  at  her  ease  with- 
out a  chaperon.  Her  mother  had  given  her  the 
same  kind  of  liberal  education  she  had  herself 
received  in  one  of  the  British  colonies.  And  we 
know  that  the  English  method  accords  to  women 
before  marriage  all  that  independence  which  we 

117 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

so  wisely  give  them  only  when  the  abuse  of  it  be- 
comes irreparable.  So  we  went  out  of  the  garden 
together.  I  held  her  stirrup  while  she  mounted, 
and  we  set  off  towards  the  chateau. 

"  Really,  M.  Odiot,"  she  said,  after  a  few 
steps,  "  I  am  afraid  I  spoiled  your  t$te-a-t$te  in  the 
garden.  You  seemed  to  be  very  happy." 

"  Certainly,  mademoiselle,  but  as  I  had  already 
been  there  a  long  time,  I  forgive  you  ;  nay,  more, 
I  thank  you." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  our  poor  friend.  My 
mother  is  very  grateful  to  you." 

"  And  your  mother's  daughter?"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  so  easily  impressed.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  have  to  wait  a  little  before  you  get 
any  praises  from  me.  I  don't  judge  people's  ac- 
tions leniently  ;  there  is  generally  more  than  one 
explanation  of  them.  I  grant  that  your  behav- 
iour towards  Mile,  de  Porhoet  looks  very  well, 

but "  she  paused,  shook  her  head,  and  went 

on  in  a  serious,  bitter,  and  frankly  insulting  tone, 
"  but  I  am  not  at  all  certain  that  you  are  not  pay- 
ing court  to  her  in  the  hope  that  she  may  make 
you  her  heir." 

I  felt  myself  grow  pale.  But,  seeing  how  ab- 
surd it  would  be  to  answer  this  young  girl  angrily, 

118 


The   Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

I  controlled  myself,  and  replied  grandly,  "  Allow 
me,  mademoiselle,  to  express  my  sincere  pity  for 
you." 

She  appeared  very  much  surprised.  "  Your 
sincere  pity  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  the  respectful  pity  to 
which  I  think  you  have  a  right." 

"  Pity  ! "  she  said,  stopping  her  horse  and  slow- 
ly turning  her  disdainful,  half-closed  eyes  towards 
me.  "  I  am  not  so  fortunate  as  to  understand  you." 

"  It  is  really  quite  simple,  mademoiselle ;  if 
disillusion,  doubt,  and  callousness  are  the  bitterest 
fruits  of  long  experience,  nothing  in  the  world 
deserves  pity  so  much  as  a  heart  withered  by  mis- 
trust before  it  has  even  seen  life." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mile.  Laroque,  with  a  strange  ve- 
hemence, "  you  do  not  know  what  you  are  talk- 
ing about.  And,"  she  added  more  harshly,  "you 
forget  to  whom  you  are  speaking ! " 

"  That  is  true,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered 
gently,  bowing.  "I  may  have  spoken  without 
much  knowledge,  and  perhaps  I  forgot,  to  some 
extent,  to  whom  I  was  speaking.  But  you  set  me 
the  example." 

Her  eyes  fixed  on  the  top  of  the  trees  that 
bordered  the  road,  Mile.  Marguerite  asked,  with 
haughty  irony  : 

119 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Must  I  beg  your  pardon  ?" 

"  Most  certainly,  mademoiselle,"  I  replied 
firmly,  "if  either  of  us  should  ask  pardon,  it  is 
you.  You  are  rich,  I  am  poor ;  you  can  humble 
yourself.  ...  I  cannot." 

There  was  silence.  Her  tightened  lips,  her 
quivering  nostrils,  and  the  sudden  whiteness  of 
her  forehead,  showed  what  a  struggle  was  going 
on  within  her.  Suddenly  lowering  her  whip  as  if 
to  salute,  she  said  : 

"  Very  well,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

At  the  same  moment  she  gave  her  horse  a 
sharp  cut  and  set  off  at  a  gallop,  leaving  me  in 
the  middle  of  the  road. 

I  have  not  seen  her  since. 

July  soth. 

The  calculation  of  probabilities  is  never  more 
misleading  than  when  it  has  to  do  with  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  woman.  After  the 
painful  scene  between  Mile.  Marguerite  and  my- 
self, I  had  not  been  very  anxious  to  encounter  her. 
For  two  days  I  had  not  been  to  the  cb^teau  and 
I  scarcely  expected  that  the  resentment  I  had 
aroused  in  this  proud  nature,  would  have  subsided 
in  this  short  interval.  However,  about  seven 
o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  day  before  yester- 
day, when  I  was  working  at  the  open  window  of 

1 20 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

my  tower,  I  heard  my  name  called  out  in  a  most 
friendly  way  by  the  very  person  of  whom  I 
thought  I  had  made  an  enemy. 

"M.  Odiot,  are  you  there?" 

I  went  to  the  window  and  saw  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite standing  in  the  boat  that  was  kept  by  the 
bridge.  She  was  holding  back  the  brim  of  her 
brown  straw  hat  and  looking  up  at  my  dark  tower. 

"  Here  I  am,  mademoiselle,"  I  said  eagerly. 

"  Are  you  coming  out  ?  " 

After  my  well-founded  apprehension  of  the 
last  two  days,  so  much  condescension  made  me 
think,  to  use  the  accepted  formula,  I  was  the  dupe 
of  a  disordered  fancy. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  .  .  .  What  did  you  say?" 

"  Will  you  come  out  for  a  little  with  Alain, 
Mervyn,  and  me  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  mademoiselle." 

"  Very  well — bring  your  album." 

I  went  down  quickly  and  hurried  to  the  bank. 

"Ah!  ah  !"  said  the  girl,  laughing,  "you're  in 
a  good-humour  this  morning,  it  seems." 

I  awkwardly  murmured  something  to  the 
effect  that  I  was  always  in  a  good-humour,  but 
Mile.  Marguerite  scarcely  seemed  convinced  of 
the  fact.  Then  I  stepped  into  the  boat  and  sat 
down  at  her  side: 

121 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Row  away,  Alain,"  she  said  immediately  ;  and 
old  Alain,  who  prides  himself  on  being  a  first-rate 
oarsman,  set  to  work  steadily,  the  long  oars  mov- 
ing to  and  fro  at  his  sides,  making  him  look  like 
a  heavy  bird  trying  to  fly. 

"  I  was  obliged  to  come  and  save  you  from 
your  donjon,"  said  Mile.  Marguerite,  "  where  you 
have  been  ailing  for  two  whole  days." 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  assure  you  that  only  con- 
sideration for  you — respect — fear  of  .  .  ." 

"  Respect !  Fear  !  Oh,  dear,  no  !  You  were 
sulking,  that  is  all.  We  behave  much  better  than 
you.  My  mother,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
thinks  you  ought  to  be  treated  with  special  con- 
sideration, and  has  implored  me  to  sacrifice  myself 
on  the  altar  of  your  pride  ;  so,  like  an  obedient 
daughter,  I  sacrifice  myself." 

I  expressed  my  gratitude  frankly  and  warmly. 

"  Not  to  do  things  by  halves,"  she  continued, 
"  I  have  determined  to  give  you  a  treat  to  your 
taste.  So  here  you  have  a  lovely  summer  morn- 
ing, woods  and  glades  with  all  the  proper  light 
effects,  birds  warbling  in  the  foliage,  a  mysterious 
bark  gliding  on  the  waves.  As  this  is  the  sort  of 
thing  you  like,  you  ought  to  be  satisfied." 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  am  charmed." 

"Well,  that's  all  right." 

122 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

For  the  moment  I  was  fairly  contented  with 
my  fate.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the  scent  of  the 
new-mown  hay  lying  in  swaths  on  either  bank ; 
the  sombre  avenues  of  the  park,  dotted  with 
patches  of  sunshine,  slipped  past  us,  and  from  the 
flower-cups  came  the  happy  drone  of  myriads  of 
insects  feasting  on  the  dew.  Opposite  me,  old 
Alain  smiled  complacently  at  me  with  a  protecting 
look  at  each  stroke  of  his  oars,  and  closer  to  me 
Mile.  Marguerite,  dressed  in  white — contrary  to 
her  custom — beautiful  and  fresh  and  pure  as  a 
periwinkle  blossom,  shook  with  one  hand  the 
pearls  of  dew  from  her  veil  while  she  held  out  the 
other  as  a  bait  for  Mervyn,  who  was  swimming 
after  the  boat.  I  should  not  have  wanted  much 
persuasion  to  go  to  the  end  of  the  world  in  that 
little  white  boat. 

As  we  passed  under  an  arch  in  the  wall  that 
bounds  the  park  the  young  Creole  said  to  me  : 

"  You  do  not  ask  where  I  am  taking  you  ?" 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  I  do  not.  It  is  all  the 
same  to  me." 

"  I  am  taking  you  into  fairyland." 

"  I  thought  so,  mademoiselle." 

"  Mile.  He*louin,  more  versed  in  poetic  lore 
than  I  am,  has  no  doubt  told  you  that  the  thickets 
that  cover  the  country  for  twenty  miles  round  are 

123 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  remains  of  the  ancient  forest  of  Brouliande, 
the  hunting-ground  of  those  beings  of  Gael,  an- 
cestors of  your  friend  Mile,  de  Porhoet,  and  the 
place  where  Mervyn's  ancestor,  wizard  though  he 
was,  came  under  the  magic  spells  of  a  damsel 
called  Vivien.  Now  we  shall  soon  be  in  the  cen- 
tre of  that  forest.  And  if  this  is  not  enough  to 
fire  your  imagination,  let  me  tell  you  that  these 
woods  are  full  of  remains  of  the  mysterious  relig- 
ion of  the  Celts ;  they  are  paved  with  them.  In 
every  shady  nook  you  picture  to  yourself  a  white- 
robed  Druid,  and  in  every  ray  of  sunlight  the  glit- 
ter of  a  golden  sickle.  The  religion  of  these  old 
bores  has  left  near  here,  in  a  solitary  and  romantic 
place,  a  monument  before  which  people  subject  to 
ecstasy  are  usually  in  raptures.  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  sketch  it,  and  as  it  is  not  easy  to 
find,  I  will  show  you  the  way,  on  condition  that 
you  suppress  the  explosions  of  an  enthusiasm  I 
cannot  share." 

"  Agreed,  mademoiselle,  I  will  control  myself." 

"  Yes,  please  do." 

"  I  promise.  And  what  is  the  name  of  this 
monument  ?" 

"  I  call  it  a  heap  of  big  stones,  but  the  anti- 
quaries have  more  than  one  name  for  it.  Some 
call  it  simply  a  dolmen,  others,  more  pedantic,  say 

124 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

it's  a  cromlech,  and  the  country  people — I  do  not 
know  why — call  it  the  migourdit? ' 

Meanwhile  we  glided  gently  with  the  current 
of  the  stream  between  two  strips  of  wet  meadow. 
Here  and  there,  small  black  cattle  with  large 
pointed  horns  turned  and  looked  fiercely  at  us. 
The  valley  through  which  the  widening  river  crept, 
was  shut  in  on  both  sides  by  a  chain  of  hills,  some 
covered  with  dry  heather  and  furze,  and  some  with 
green  brushwood.  Sometimes,  at  the  end  of  a 
transversal  cleft  between  two  hills,  we  could  see 
the  crest  of  a  mountain,  blue  and  round  in  the  dis- 
tance. In  spite  of  her  indifference,  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite was  careful  to  draw  my  attention  to  all 
the  beauties  of  this  austere  and  peaceful  country, 
and  careful  also,  to  qualify  each  remark  with  some 
ironic  comment. 

For  a  little  while  a  dull,  continuous  sound  had 
told  us  that  we  were  approaching  a  waterfall. 
Suddenly  the  valley  narrowed  into  a  wild  and 
lonely  gorge.  On  the  left  stood  a  high  wall  of 
rock  overgrown  with  moss ;  oaks  and  firs  mixed 
with  ivy  and  straggling  brushwood  rose  one  above 
the  other  in  every  crevice  till  they  reached  the  top 
of  the  cliff,  throwing  a  mysterious  shade  on  to  the 

*  In  the  wood  of  Cadoudal  (Morbihan). 
125 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

deeper  water  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks.  A  hundred 
paces  in  front  of  us,  the  water  boiled  and  foamed, 
and  then  disappeared  all  at  once,  and  the  broken 
line  of  the  stream  stood  out  in  a  veil  of  white 
spray,  against  a  distant  background  of  vague 
foliage.  On  our  right,  the  bank  opposite  to  the 
cliff  had  only  a  narrow  margin  of  sloping  meadow, 
fringed  with  the  sombre  velvet  of  the  wooded 
hills. 

"  Land,  Alain,"  said  the  young  Creole.  Alain 
moored  the  boat  to  a  willow. 

"  Now,  sir,"  she  said,  stepping  lightly  on  to 
grass,  "  aren't  you  overcome  ?  •  Aren't  you  troubled, 
petrified,  thunderstruck  ?  You  ought  to  be,  for 
this  is  supposed  to  be  a  very  pretty  place.  I  like 
it  because  it  is  always  fresh  and  cool.  But  follow 
me  through  the  woods — if  you  are  not  too  much 
afraid — and  I  will  show  you  the  famous  stones." 

Bright,  alert,  and  gay  as  I  had  never  seen  her 
before,  Mile.  Marguerite  crossed  the  fields  with 
a  bounding  step,  and  took  a  path  which  led  along 
the  hills  to  the  forest.  Alain  and  I  followed 
in  Indian  file.  After  a  few  minutes'  quick  walk- 
ing our  guide  stopped  and  seemed  to  hesitate,  and 
looked  about  her  for  a  moment.  Then,  deliber- 
ately separating  two  interlaced  branches,  she  left 
the  beaten  track  and  plunged  into  the  under- 

126 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

growth.  It  was  very  difficult  to  make  way 
through  the  thicket  of  strong  young  oaks  whose 
slanting  stems  and  twisted  branches  were  knotted 
together  as  closely  as  Robinson  Crusoe's  palisade. 
At  least  Alain  and  I,  bent  double,  advanced  very 
slowly,  catching  our  heads  against  something  at 
every  step,  and  at  each  of  our  clumsy  movements 
bringing  down  a  shower  of  dew  upon  us.  But 
Mile.  Marguerite,  with  the  greater  dexterity  and 
the  catlike  suppleness  of  her  sex,  slipped  without 
any  apparent  effort  through  the  meshes  of  the 
labyrinth,  laughing  at  our  sufferings,  and  care- 
lessly letting  the  branches  spring  back  after  her 
into  our  faces.  At  last  we  reached  a  narrow 
glade  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  There,  not  without 
emotion,  I  saw  the  dark  and  monstrous  table  of 
stone  supported  by  five  or  six  huge  blocks  half 
sunk  in  the  earth,  forming  a  cavern  full  of  sacred 
horror.  At  first  sight  this  perfect  monument  of  a 
time  almost  fabulous,  and  of  a  primitive  religion, 
has  an  aspect  of  eternal  verity  and  of  a  real  mys- 
terious presence,  that  takes  hold  of  the  imagina- 
tion, and  fills  the  mind  with  awe. 

The  sunshine  streaming  through  the  leaves 
stole  through  the  interstices  in  the  roughly  joined 
blocks,  played  about  the  sinister  slab,  and  lent 
an  idyllic  charm  to  this  barbarous  altar.  Even 

127 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Mile.  Marguerite  seemed  pensive  and  brooding. 
For  my  part  I  entered  the  cavern,  and,  after  ex- 
amining the  dolmen  thoroughly,  set  to  work  to 
sketch  it.  For  ten  minutes  I  had  been  absorbed 
in  this  work,  forgetting  everything  that  was  going 
on  about  me,  when  Mile.  Marguerite  suddenly 
spoke  : 

"  Do  you  want  a  Velleda  to  enliven  your 
picture  ?  " 

I  looked  up.  She  had  wound  a  wreath  of 
oak-leaves  round  her  forehead  and  stood  at  the 
head  of  the  dolmen,  leaning  lightly  against  a 
sheaf  of  saplings.  In  the  half-light,  under  the 
branches,  her  white  dress  looked  like  marble,  and 
her  eyes  shone  with  strange  fire  in  the  shadow  of 
the  oaken  crown.  She  was  beautiful,  and  I  think 
she  knew  it.  I  looked  at  her  and  found  it  hard 
to  speak. 

"  If  I  am  in  the  way,  I'll  move,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  no  !  please  don't." 

"  Well,  make  haste ;  put  Mervyn  in  too. 
He'll  be  the  Druid  and  I  the  Druidess." 

I  was  so  lucky — thanks  to  the  vagueness  of  a 
sketch — as  to  reproduce  this  poetic  vision  pretty 
faithfully.  Evidently  interested,  she  came  and 
looked  at  the  drawing. 

"  It  isn't  bad,"  she  said,  laughing,  as  she  threw 
128 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

her  crown  away.  "You  must  admit  that  I  am 
very  good  to  you." 

I  did.  I  might  even  have  added,  if  she  had 
asked  me,  that  she  was  not  without  a  spice  of 
coquetry.  But  without  that  she  would  not  have 
been  a  woman.  Perfection  is  detestable,  and 
even  goddesses  need  something  besides  their 
deathless  beauty  to  win  love. 

We  went  back  through  the  tangled  under- 
wood to  the  path  in  the  wood,  and  thence  re- 
turned to  the  river. 

"  Before  we  return,"  said  the  young  girl,  "  I 
want  to  show  you  the  waterfall,  more  especially 
as  I  am  looking  forward  to  a  little  diversion  on 
my  own  account.  Come,  Mervyn,  come  along, 
dear  dog.  Oh,  you  are  lovely  ! " 

We  soon  reached  the  bank  facing  the  rocks 
which  blocked  the  bed  of  the  river.  The  water 
fell  from  a  height  of  many  feet  into  a  large  and 
deeply  sunk  circular  basin,  which  seemed  to  be 
shut  in  on  all  sides  by  an  amphitheatre  of  vegeta- 
tion,  broken  by  dripping  rocks-.  But  there  were 
unseen  outlets  for  the  overflow  of  the  little  lake, 
and  the  streams  so  formed  reunited  a  little  lower 
down. 

"  It  is  not  exactly  a  Niagara,"  said  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite, raising  her  voice  against  the  noise  of  the 

129 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

falling  waters,  "  but  I  have  heard  connoisseurs 
and  artists  say  that  it  is  rather  pretty,  neverthe- 
less. Have  you  admired  it  ?  Good !  Now  I 
hope  you'll  bestow  any  enthusiasm  you  may  have 
left  on  Mervyn.  Here,  Mervyn  !" 

The  Newfoundland  ran  to  his  mistress,  and, 
trembling  with  impatience,  watched  her  while  she 
tied  some  pebbles  into  her  handkerchief.  She 
threw  it  into  the  stream  a  little  above  the  fall, 
and  at  the  same  moment  Mervyn  fell  like  a  block 
into  the  lower  basin  and  struck  out  swiftly  from 
the  edge.  The  handkerchief  followed  the  cur- 
rent, reached  the  rocks,  danced  in  an  eddy  for 
a  minute,  and  then,  shooting  like  an  arrow  past 
the  smooth  rock,  swept  in  a  mass  of  foam  under 
the  eyes  of  the  dog,  who  seized  it  dexterously  in 
his  mouth,  after  which  Mervyn  returned  proudly 
to  the  bank,  where  Mile.  Marguerite  stood  clap- 
ping her  hands. 

This  feat  was  performed  several  times  with 
great  success.  At  the  sixth  repetition,  either 
because  the  dog  started  too  late  or  because  the 
handkerchief  was  thrown  too  soon,  Mervyn 
missed  it.  The  handkerchief  swept  on  by  the 
eddies  from  the  fall,  was  carried  among  some 
thorny  brushwood  that  overhung  the  water  a 
little  farther  on.  Mervyn  went  to  fetch  it,  but 

130 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

we  were  very  much  surprised  to  see  him  suddenly 
struggle  convulsively,  drop  his  booty,  and  raise 
his  head  towards  us,  howling  pitifully. 

"My  God!  what  has  happened?"  exclaimed 
Mile.  Marguerite. 

"  He  seems  to  be  caught  among  the  bushes. 
He'll  free  himself  directly,  no  doubt." 

But  soon  one  had  to  doubt,  and  even  to  de- 
spair, of  this  issue.  The  network  of  creepers  in 
which  the  dog  had  been  caught  lay  directly  below 
one  of  the  mouths  of  the  sluice,  which  poured  a 
mass  of  seething  water  continuously  on  Mervyn's 
head.  The  poor  beast,  half-suffocated,  ceased  to 
make  the  slightest  effort  to  release  himself,  and 
his  plaintive  cries  sounded  more  and  more  like 
a  death-rattle.  At  this  moment  Mile.  Marguerite 
seized  my  arm,  and  whispered  almost  in  my 
ear : 

"  He  is  lost.     It's  no  use.  .  .  .   Let  us  go." 

I  looked  at  her.  Grief,  pain,  and  her  violent 
effort  to  control  herself  had  distorted  her  pale 
features  and  brought  dark  circles  under  her 
eyes. 

"It  is  impossible,"  I  said,  "to  get  the  boat 
down  there  ;  but  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  can  swim 
a  little,  and  I'll  go  and  give  a  hand  to  the  poor 
fellow." 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  No,  no ;  don't  attempt  it.  It's  too  far. 
And  they  say  it's  very  deep  and  dangerous  under 
the  fall." 

"  You  needn't  fear,  mademoiselle ;  I  am  very 
cautious." 

At  the  same  moment  I  took  off  my  coat  and 
went  into  the  water,  taking  care  to  keep  a  good 
distance  from  the  fall.  It  was  very  deep,  and  I 
did  not  find  a  footing  till  I  reached  the  exhausted 
Mervyn.  I  do  not  know  whether  there  had  been 
an  islet  here  which  had  dwindled  and  crumbled 
away,  or  whether  a  sudden  rising  of  the  river  had 
swept  away  part  of  the  bank,  and  deposited  the 
fragments  in  this  place  ;  but,  whatever  the  cause, 
there  was  an  accumulated  and  flourishing  mass 
of  entangled  brushwood  and  roots  under  this 
treacherous  water.  I  got  my  feet  on  a  trunk  from 
which  the  bushes  seemed  to  spring,  and  man- 
aged to  release  Mervyn.  Feeling  himself  free, 
he  recovered  at  once,  and  struck  out  for  the  bank, 
leaving  me  to  my  fate  with  all  the  goodwill  im- 
aginable. This  was  scarcely  acting  up  to  the 
chivalrous  reputation  of  his  breed,  but  Mervyn 
has  lived  a  long  while  among  men,  and  I  sup- 
pose has  become  a  bit  of  a  philosopher.  But 
when  I  tried  to  follow  him,  I  found,  to  my 
disgust,  that,  in  my  turn,  I  was  caught  in  the 

132 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

nets  of  the  jealous  and  malignant  naiad  who 
reigns  in  the  pool.  One  of  my  legs  was  en- 
tangled in  the  creepers,  and  I  could  not  free  it. 
It  is  difficult  to  exert  all  one's  strength  in  deep 
water,  and  on  a  bed  of  sticky  mud.  And  besides, 
I  was  half-blinded  by  the  bubbling  spray.  In 
short,  my  situation  was  becoming  awkward.  I 
looked  towards  the  bank  ;  Mile.  Marguerite,  hold- 
ing to  Alain's  arm,  hung  over  the  gulf,  and 
watched  me  with  mortal  anxiety.  I  told  my- 
self that  it  rested  with  me  to  be  wept  for  by 
those  bright  eyes,  and  to  end  a  miserable  exist- 
ence in  an  enviable  fashion.  Then  I  shook  off 
such  maudlin  fancies  vigorously,  and  freed  myself 
by  a  violent  effort.  I  tied  the  little  handkerchief, 
now  in  rags,  round  my  neck,  and  easily  regained 
the  shore. 

As  I  landed,  Mile.  Marguerite  offered  me  her 
hand.  It  trembled  a  little,  and  I  was  pleased. 

"  What  rashness  !  You  might  have  been 
drowned,  and  for  a  dog  ! " 

"  It  was  yours,"  I  whispered  in  the  same  low 
tone  she  had  used  to  me. 

This  speech  seemed  to  annoy  her ;  she  with- 
drew her  hand  quickly,  and  turning  to  Mervyn, 
who  lay  yawning  and  drying  himself  in  the  sun, 
began  to  punish  him. 

133 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Oh,  the  stupid!  the  big  stupid!"  she  said. 
44  What  an  idiot  he  is  ! " 

But  the  water  was  streaming  from  my  clothes 
on  to  the  grass.  I  did  not  quite  know  what  to  do 
with  myself,  till  Mile.  Marguerite  came  back,  and 
said  very  kindly  : 

"  Take  the  boat,  M.  Maxime,  and  get  away  as 
fast  as  you  can.  You'll  keep  warm  rowing.  I 
will  come  back  with  Alain  through  the  wood ;  it 
is  the  shortest  way." 

I  agreed  to  this  arrangement,  which  was  in 
every  way  the  best.  I  said  farewell,  touched  her 
hand  for  the  second  time,  and  got  into  the  boat. 
To  my  surprise,  when  I  was  dressing  at  home  I 
found  the  little  handkerchief  still  round  my  neck. 
I  had  forgotten  to  restore  it  to  Mile.  Marguerite, 
who  must  have  given  it  up  for  lost,  so  I  shame- 
lessly determined  to  keep  it  as  the  reward  of  my 
watery  adventure. 

I  went  to  the  chateau  in  the  evening.  Mile. 
Laroque  received  me  with  her  habitual  air  of  dis- 
dainful indolence,  sombre  preoccupation,  and  em- 
bittered ennui,  which  was  in  singular  contrast  with 
the  gracious  friendliness  and  playful  vivacity  of 
my  companion  of  the  morning. 

During  dinner,  at  which  M.  de  Be'vallan  was 
present,  she  spoke  of  our  excursion  in  a  manner 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

that  stripped  it  of  all  sentiment,  and  as  she  went 
on,  said  some  sharp  things  about  lovers  of  nature, 
and  finished  with  an  account  of  Mervyn's  misad- 
venture, without  mentioning  my  share  in  it.  If, 
as  I  thought,  this  was  meant  as  a  hint  of  the  line 
I  was  to  take,  the  young  lady  had  been  at  needless 
trouble.  However  that  may  be,  M.  de  Be>allan, 
on  hearing  the  story,  nearly  deafened  us  with  his 
cries j  of  despair.  What !  Mile.  Marguerite  had 
endured  such  anxiety,  the  brave  Mervyn  had  been 
in  such  danger,  and  he,  Be"vallan,  had  not  been 
there.  Cruel  fate  !  He  would  never  get  over  it. 
There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  hang  himself, 
like  Crillon. 

"  Well,"  said  Alain,  "  if  it  depended  on  me  to 
cut  him  down,  I  should  take  my  time  about  it." 

The  next  day  did  not  begin  so  pleasantly  for 
me  as  its  predecessor.  In  the  morning  I  received 
a  letter  from  Madrid,  asking  me  to  inform  Mile. 
de  Porhoet  that  her  lawsuit  was  finally  lost.  Her 
agent  also  informed  me  that  her  opponents  would 
not  profit  by  their  victory,  as  the  Crown,  attracted 
by  the  millions  at  stake,  claimed  to  succeed  under 
the  law  by  which  the  property  escheats  to  the 
state. 

After  careful  consideration,  I  decided  that  it 
would  be  kinder  not  to  let  my  old  friend  know  of 

135 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  total  destruction  of  her  hopes.  I  intend, 
therefore,  to  secure  the  assistance  of  her  agent  in 
Spain  ;  he  will  allege  further  delays,  and  on  my 
side  I  shall  continue  my  researches  among  the 
archives,  and  do  my  best  to  preserve  the  poor 
soul's  cherished  delusions  to  the  end.  However 
innocent  and  legitimate  this  deception  might  be, 
I  could  not  feel  at  rest  until  it  had  been  approved 
by  some  one  whose  judgment  in  such  matters  I 
could  trust.  I  went  to  the  chateau  in  the  after- 
noon, and  made  confession  to  Mme.  Laroque, 
who  approved  of  my  plan,  and  commended  me 
rather  more  than  the  occasion  warranted.  And  to 
my  great  surprise  she  finished  the  interview  with 
these  words  : 

"  I  must  take  this  opportunity  of  telling  you, 
M.  Odiot,  that  I  am  deeply  grateful  for  your  de- 
votion to  my  interests,  that  each  day  I  appreciate 
your  character  more  truly,  and  enjoy  your  company 
more  thoroughly.  I  could  wish — you  must  for- 
give my  saying  it,  as  you  are  scarcely  likely  to 
share  my  wish — I  could  wish  that  you  could 
always  remain  with  us  ...  and  I  humbly  pray 
heaven  to  perform  the  miracles  necessary  to  bring 
this  about  .  .  .  for  I  know  that  only  miracles 
can  do  so." 

I  did  not  quite  grasp  the  meaning  of  this 
136 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

language,  nor  could  I  explain  the  sudden  emotion 
that  shone  in  the  eyes  of  the  excellent  lady.  I 
acknowledged  her  kindness  properly,  and  went 
away  to  indulge  my  melancholy  in  the  fields. 

By  an  accident — not  purely  fortuitous,  I  must 
admit — I  found  myself,  after  an  hour's  walking, 
in  a  deserted  valley,  and  on  the  brink  of  the  pool 
which  had  been  the  scene  of  my  recent  prowess. 
The  amphitheatre  of  rocks  and  greenery  which 
surrounds  the  small  lake  realizes  the  very  ideal  of 
solitude.  There  you  are  at  the  end  of  the  world, 
in  a  virgin  country,  in  China — where  you  will !  I 
lay  down  among  the  heather,  recalling  my  expe- 
dition of  yesterday,  one  not  likely  to  occur  again 
in  the  course  of  the  longest  life.  Already  I  felt 
that  if  such  good  fortune  should  come  to  me  a 
second  time,  it  would  not  have  that  charm  of  sur- 
prise, of  peacefulness,  and — in  one  word — of  inno- 
cence. I  had  to  own  that  this  fresh  romance  of 
youth,  which  gave  a  perfume  to  my  thoughts, 
could  have  but  one  chapter,  one  page,  and  that  I 
had  read  it.  Yes,  this  hour,  this  hour  of  love,  to 
call  it  by  its  true  name,  had  been  royally  sweet, 
because  it  had  not  been  premeditated,  because  I 
had  not  known  what  it  was  till  it  had  gone,  be- 
cause I  had  had  the  rapture,  and  had  been  spared 
remorse.  Now  my  conscience  was  awake.  I  saw 

137  5— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

myself  on  the  verge  of  an  impossible,  a  ridiculous 
love,  and  worse,  of  a  culpable  passion.  Poor  and 
disinherited  as  I  am,  it  is  time  to  keep  a  strict 
watch  over  myself. 

I  was  addressing  these  warnings  to  myself  in 
this  solitary  place — any  other  would  have  served 
my  purpose  as  well — when  the  sound  of  voices 
interrupted  my  reflections.  I  rose,  and  saw  a 
company  of  four  or  five  people  who  had  just 
landed,  advancing  towards  me.  First  came  Mile. 
Marguerite  leaning  on  M.  de  Be*vallan's  arm ; 
next  Mile.  Helouin  and  Mme.  Aubry,  followed 
by  Alain  and  Mervyn.  The  sound  of  their  ap- 
proach had  been  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  water- 
fall ;  they  were  only  a  few  yards  off ;  there  was 
no  time  for  retreat,  so  I  had  to  resign  myself  to 
being  discovered  in  the  character  of  the  romantic 
recluse.  But  my  presence  did  not  excite  any 
particular  attention,  though  I  saw  a  shadow  of 
annoyance  on  Mile.  Marguerite's  face,  and  she 
returned  my  bow  with  marked  stiffness. 

M.  de  Be>allan,  standing  at  the  verge  of  the 
pool,  wearied  the  echoes  with  the  clamour  of  his 
conventional  admiration.  "  Delicious  !  How  pic- 
turesque !  What  a  feast !  The  pen  of  George 
Sand.  .  .  .  The  pencil  of  Salvator  Rosa ! " 

All  this  was  accompanied  by  violent  gestures, 
138 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

by  which  he  appeared  to  be  snatching  from  these 
great  artists,  the  instruments  of  their  genius. 

At  last  he  became  calmer,  and  asked  to  be 
shown  the  dangerous  channel  where  Mervyn  had 
nearly  been  drowned.  Again  Mile.  Marguerite 
related  the  adventure,  and  again  she  suppressed  the 
part  I  had  taken  in  the  denouement.  With  a  kind 
of  cruelty,  evidently  levelled  at  me,  she  enlarged 
on  the  cleverness,  courage,  and  presence  of  mind 
her  dog  had  shown  in  his  trying  situation.  Ap- 
parently she  seemed  to  think  that  her  transient 
good-humour,  and  the  service  I  had  been  so  for- 
tunate as  to  render  her,  had  filled  my  head  with 
some  presumptuous  notions,  which  it  was  neces- 
sary to  nip  in  the  bud. 

As  Mile.  He"louin  and  Mme.  Aubry  partic- 
ularly wished  to  see  Mervyn  repeat  his  wonderful 
exploit,  his  mistress  called  the  Newfoundland, 
and,  as  before,  threw  her  handkerchief  into  the 
current.  But  at  the  signal  the  brave  Mervyn,  in- 
stead of  jumping  into  the  lake,  rushed  up  and 
down  the  bank,  barking  furiously,  lashing  about 
with  his  tail,  showing,  in  fact,  the  greatest  interest 
in  the  proceedings,  but  at  the  same  time  an  excel- 
lent memory.  Evidently  the  head  controls  the 
heart  in  this  sagacious  beast.  In  vain  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite, angry  and  confused,  first  tried  caresses 

139 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

and  then  threats  to  overcome  her  favourite's  ob- 
stinacy. Nothing  could  persuade  the  intelligent 
creature  to  trust  himself  again  in  those  dangerous 
waters.  After  such  high-flown  announcements, 
Mervyn's  stubborn  prudence  was  really  amusing. 
I  had  a  better  right  to  laugh  than  any  one  present, 
and  I  did  so  without  compunction.  Besides,  the 
merriment  soon  became  general,  and  in  the  end 
Mile.  Marguerite  herself  joined  in,  rather  half- 
heartedly. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  "  I've  lost  another  hand- 
kerchief." 

The  handkerchief,  carried  along  by  the  eddies, 
had  naturally  landed  among  the  branches  of  the 
fatal  bush,  not  far  from  the  further  bank. 

"  Rely  upon  me,  mademoiselle,"  cried  M.  de 
Be>allan.  "  In  ten  minutes  you  shall  have  your 
handkerchief,  or  I  shall  exist  no  longer." 

At  this  magnanimous  declaration  I  thought 
that  Mile.  Marguerite  looked  stealthily  at  me,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  You  see,  there  are  others  who 
are  devoted  to  me ! "  Then  she  answered  M.  de 
Be'vallan. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  so  foolish  !  The 
water  is  very  deep.  ...  It  is  really  dangerous." 

"  It  is  all  the  same  to  me,"  said  M.  de  Be'- 
vallan. "  Have  you  a  knife,  Alain  ?" 

140 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  A  knife?"  said  Mile.  Marguerite,  surprised. 

"  Yes,  a  knife.  Please  allow  me  ...  I  know 
what  I  mean  to  do." 

41  But  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  a 
knife?" 

"  I  mean  to  cut  a  switch,"  said  M.  de  B6- 
vallan. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"  I  thought,"  she  murmured,  "  that  you  were 
going  to  swim  for  it." 

"To  swim!"  said  M.  de  Be"vallan ;  "excuse 
me,  mademoiselle.  .  .  .  Firstly,  I  am  not  in 
swimming  costume ;  next,  I  must  admit  that 
I  cannot  swim." 

"If  you  cannot  swim,"  she  said  dryly,  "the 
question  of  costume  is  not  important." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  M.  de  Be"vallan, 
with  amusing  coolness  ;  "  but  you  are  not  particu- 
larly anxious  that  I  should  drown  myself,  are 
you  ?  You  want  your  handkerchief,  that  is  the 
point.  When  I  have  got  it,  you  will  be  satis- 
fied. Isn't  that  so  ? " 

"Well,  go  and  cut  your  switch,"  she  said,  sit- 
ting down  resignedly. 

M.  de  Be*vallan  is  not  easily  disconcerted. 
He  disappeared  into  the  nearest  thicket,  and  soon 
we  heard  the  branches  crack.  He  came  back 

141 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

armed  with  a  long  switch  from  a  nut-tree,  and 
proceeded  to  strip  the  leaves  off. 

"  Do  you  think  you'll  reach  the  other  side 
with  that  stick?"  asked  Mile.  Marguerite,  who 
was  beginning  to  be  amused. 

"  Allow  me  to  manage  it  my  own  way.  That 
is  all  I  ask,"  said  the  imperturbable  gentleman. 

We  left  him  alone.  He  finished  his  switch, 
and  then  set  out  for  the  boat.  We  at  last  under- 
stood that  he  meant  to  cross  the  river  in  the  boat, 
to  land  above  the  waterfall,  and  to  harpoon  the 
handkerchief,  which  he  could  easily  do  from  the 
bank.  At  this  discovery  there  was  an  indignant 
outcry  from  the  ladies,  who,  as  we  all  know,  are 
extremely  fond  of  dangerous  adventures — in 
which  they  are  not  themselves  concerned. 

"A  pretty  contrivance,  M.  de  Be"vallan. 
Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself  ?  " 

"  Tu-tu,  ladies  !  Remember  Columbus  and 
the  egg.  The  idea  is  everything,  you  know." 

Contrary  to  our  expectation,  this  apparently 
harmless  expedition  was  not  to  be  carried  through 
without  some  emotions,  and  some  risks,  for 
M.  de  Be"vallan,  instead  of  making  for  the  bank 
immediately  opposite  the  little  bay,  where  the 
boat  had  been  moored,  unluckily  decided  to  land 
nearer  the  cataract.  He  pushed  the  boat  into  the 

142 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

middle  of  the  stream  and  let  it  drift  for  a  mo- 
ment, till  he  saw  that  as  the  river  approached  the 
fall,  its  pace  increased  with  alarming  rapidity. 
We  appreciated  the  danger  when  we  saw  him  put 
the  boat  across  the  current,  and  begin  to  row 
with  feverish  energy.  For  a  few  seconds  he 
struggled  with  doubtful  success.  But,  little  by 
little,  he  got  nearer  to  the  bank,  though  the 
stream  still  swept  him  fiercely  towards  the  cata- 
ract, which  thundered  ominously  in  his  ears. 
He  was  only  a  few  feet  from  it,  when  a  su- 
preme effort  brought  him  near  enough  to  the 
shore  to  put  him  out  of  danger.  With  a  vigor- 
ous spring  he  leaped  on  to  the  slope  of  the  bank, 
sending  the  boat  out  among  the  rocks,  where  it 
was  at  once  overturned.  It  presently  floated  into 
the  pool  keel  upward.  While  the  danger  lasted, 
our  only  feeling  was  one  of  keen  anxiety,  but 
when  it  was  over,  the  contrast  between  the  comic 
denouement  and  its  hero's  usual  coolness  and  self- 
confidence,  could  not  fail  to  tickle  our  sense  of 
humour.  Besides,  laughter  is  a  natural  relief 
when  a  danger  is  happily  past.  Directly  we  saw 
that  M.  de  Be"vallan  was  out  of  the  boat,  we  all 
gave  ourselves  up  to  unrestrained  merriment.  I 
should  say,  that  at  this  moment  his  bad  luck  was 
completed  by  a  truly  distressing  detail.  The 

143 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

bank  on  which  he  had  jumped  sloped  sharply  and 
was  very  wet.  His  feet  had  scarcely  touched  it 
when  he  fell  backwards.  Fortunately  there  were 
some  strong  branches  within  his  reach.  He  hung 
on  to  them  desperately,  his  legs  beating  the  shal- 
low water  like  two  angry  oars.  As  there  was  no 
danger,  his  situation  became  purely  ridiculous, 
and  I  suppose  that  this  thought  made  him  strug- 
gle so  frantically  and  awkwardly,  that  his  efforts 
defeated  their  purpose.  He  succeeded,  however, 
in  raising  himself  and  getting  another  footing  on 
the  slope.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  we  saw  him 
slide  down  again,  tearing  the  bushes  and  brush- 
wood as  he  went,  and  renewing  his  wild  panto- 
mime in  the  water  in  evident  desperation.  It 
was  irresistible.  Never,  I  believe,  had  Mile. 
Marguerite  been  at  such  an  entertainment.  She 
had  utterly  lost  all  care  for  her  dignity.  Like 
some  mirthful  Bacchante,  she  filled  all  the  grove 
with  bursts  of  almost  convulsive  gaiety.  Be- 
tween her  shouts  of  laughter  she  clapped  her 
hands  and  called  out  in  a  half-suffocated  voice  : 

"  Bravo !  bravo  !  M.  de  Be*vallan!  Very  pretty  ! 
Delicious  !  Picturesque  !  Salvator  Rosa  ! " 

At  last  M.  de  Be"vallan  succeeded  in  dragging 
himself  to  terra  firma.  Then,  turning  to  the 
ladies,  he  made  them  a  speech  which  the  noise  of 

144 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  waterfall  prevented  us  from  hearing  distinctly ; 
but,  from  his  animated  gestures,  the  illustrative 
movements  of  his  arms,  and  his  air  of  forced  good- 
humour,  we  understood  that  he  was  giving  us  a 
reasoned  explanation  of  his  disaster. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Mile.  Marguerite,  continu- 
ing to  laugh  with  a  woman's  implacable  barbarity, 
"  it  was  a  great  success.  I  congratulate  you  ! " 

When  she  was  a  little  more  serious,  she  asked 
me  how  we  should  recover  the  capsized  boat, 
which,  by-the-bye,  was  the  best  we  had.  I  prom- 
ised to  bring  some  men  the  next  day,  and  superin- 
tend the  rescue.  Then  we  struck  across  the  fields 
towards  the  chateau.  M.  de  Be"vallan,  not  being 
in  swimming  costume,  could  not  rejoin  us.  With 
a  melancholy  air  he  disappeared  behind  the  rocks 
above  the  farther  bank. 

August  2oth. 

At  last  this  extraordinary  girl  has  revealed  the 
secret  of  her  stormy  soul  to  me.  Would  that  she 
had  preserved  it  forever  ! 

During  the  day  that  followed  the  scenes  I  have 
just  described,  Mile.  Marguerite,  as  if  ashamed  of 
the  impulses  of  youthful  frankness  to  which  she 
had  yielded,  wrapped  herself  more  closely  than 
ever  in  her  veil  of  mournful  pride,  disdain,  and 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

mistrust.  In  the  midst  of  the  noisy  pleasures,  the 
fites,  and  dances  that  succeeded  one  another,  she 
passed  like  a  ghost,  indifferent,  icy,  and  sometimes 
angry. 

Her  irony  vented  itself  with  inconceivable  bit- 
terness, sometimes  on  the  purest  pleasures  of  the 
mind,  those  that  come  from  contemplation  and 
study,  sometimes  on  the  noblest  and  most  sacred 
sentiments.  If  an  instance  of  courage  or  virtue 
was  mentioned  in  her  presence,  she  examined  it 
minutely  in  search  of  its  selfish  motive  ;  or  if  by 
chance  one  burned  the  smallest  grain  of  incense 
on  the  altar  of  art,  she  extinguished  it  with  a  dis- 
dainful wave  of  her  hand.  With  her  short,  abrupt, 
and  terrible  laugh,  like  the  mocking  of  a  fallen 
angel,  she  seemed  determined  to  blight  (wherever 
she  saw  a  trace  of  them)  the  most  generous  facul- 
ties of  the  human  soul — enthusiasm  and  passion. 
I  noticed  that  this  strange  spirit  of  disparagement 
took  on  a  special  character  of  persecution — positive 
hostility — when  directed  against  me.  I  did  not 
understand,  and  even  now  I  do  not  quite  under- 
stand, why  I  have  attracted  these  particular  atten- 
tions. True,  I  carry  in  my  heart  the  worship  of 
things  ideal  and  eternal,  which  only  death  can  tear 
from  me  (great  God,  what  would  be  left  me  if  I 
had  not  that !)  ;  but  I  am  not  given  to  public 

146 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

ecstasies,  and  my  admiration,  like  my  love,  will 
never  be  obtrusive.  In  vain  I  maintained  more 
scrupulously  than  ever  the  modesty  which  springs 
from  real  feeling.  I  gained  nothing  by  it.  The 
most  romantic  fancies  were  attributed  to  me  just 
for  the  pleasure  of  combating  them,  and  perpetu- 
ally some  kind  of  grotesque  harp  was  thrust  into 
my  hands,  solely  for  the  amusement  of  breaking 
its  strings. 

Although  this  open  warfare  against  anything 
higher  than  the  material  interests  and  sordid  reali- 
ties of  life,  was  not  a  new  trait  in  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite's character,  it  had  been  suddenly  exagger- 
ated and  embittered  to  the  point  of  wounding  the 
hearts  most  devoted  to  this  young  girl.  One  day 
Mile,  de  Porhoet,  weary  of  this  incessant  mocking, 
said  to  her  in  my  presence : 

"  My  darling,  for  some  time  past  you  have 
been  possessed  by  a  devil  which  you  would  do 
well  to  cast  out  as  soon  as  possible,  or  you  will 
finish  by  making  up  a  trio  with  Mme.  Aubry 
and  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast.  For  my  part,  I  do  not 
pride  myself  on  being,  or  ever  having  been,  par- 
ticularly romantic,  but  I  like  to  think  that  there 
are  still  some  people  in  the  world  who  are  capable 
of  generous  sentiments  ;  I  believe  in  disinterested- 
ness, if  only  in  my  own,  and  I  even  believe  in 

147 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

heroism,  because  I  have  known  heroes.  More,  I 
love  to  hear  the  little  birds  singing  under  my 
arbour,  and  I  like  to  build  my  cathedral  in  the 
drifting  clouds.  All  this  may  sound  very  ridicu- 
lous, my  dear,  but  I  venture  to  remind  you  that 
these  illusions  are  the  riches  of  the  poor,  that 
M.  Odiot  and  I  have  no  other  kind  of  wealth, 
and  that  we  are  so  singular  as  not  to  com- 
plain." 

On  another  occasion,  when  I  had  just  received 
Mile.  Marguerite's  sarcasm  with  my  usual  impassi- 
bility, her  mother  drew  me  aside. 

"  M.  Maxime,"  she  said,  "  my  daughter  teases 
you  a  little,  but  I  hope  you  will  excuse  her.  You 
must  have  noticed  that  she  has  changed  very 
much  lately." 

"Your  daughter  seems  to  be  more  preoccu- 
pied than  usual." 

"  And  not  without  good  reason ;  she  is  about 
to  come  to  a  very  serious  decision,  and  at  such  a 
moment  young  girls  are  apt  to  be  capricious." 

I  bowed  and  said  nothing. 

"  You  are  now  a  friend  of  the  family,"  con- 
tinued Mme.  Laroque,  "  and  as  such  I  ask  you  to 
give  me  your  opinion  of  M.  de  Bevallan." 

"  I  believe,  madame,  that  M.  de  Be*vallan  has 
a  very  handsome  fortune — not  so  large  as  yours, 

148 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

but  undeniably  handsome — about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  a  year ! " 

"Yes,  but  what  do  you  think  of  him  per- 
sonally, and  of  his  character?" 

"  M.  de  BeVallan  is  what  the  world  calls  a  per- 
fect gentleman.  He  has  wit ;  he  is  considered  an 
honourable  man." 

"  But  do  you  think  he  will  make  my  daughter 
happy  ? " 

"  I  do  not  think  he  will  make  her  unhappy. 
He  is  not  unkind." 

"  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do  ?  I  am 
not  entirely  satisfied  with  him  .  .  .  but  he  is  the 
only  one  Marguerite  at  all  cares  for  ...  and 
there  are  so  few  men  with  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year.  You  can  understand  that  my 
daughter — in  her  position — has  had  plenty  of 
offers.  For  the  last  two  or  three  years  we  have 
been  literally  besieged.  .  .  .  Well,  it  is  time  we 
decided.  ...  I  am  not  strong.  ...  I  may  go 
any  day.  .  .  .  My  daughter  would  be  unprotected. 
Here  is  an  unexceptionable  suitor  whom  the 
world  will  certainly  approve — it  is  my  duty  to 
welcome  him.  Already  people  say  that  I  have 
filled  my  daughter's  head  with  romantic  notions — 
which  is  not  the  truth.  She  has  her  own  ideas. 
Now,  what  do  you  advise  me  to  do  ?" 

149 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"May  I  ask  what  is  Mile,  de  Portion's 
opinion  ?  She  is  a  lady  of  great  judgment  and 
experience,  and  besides,  entirely  devoted  to  you." 

"Oh,  if  I  listened  to  Mile,  de  Porhofit  I 
should  send  M.  de  Be*vallan  about  his  business. 
But  it  is  all  very  well  for  Mile,  de  Porho£t  to 
talk.  When  he's  gone,  she  won't  marry  my 
daughter  for  me." 

"  But,  madame,  from  the  monetary  point  of 
view,  M.  de  Be*vallan  is  certainly  a  fine  match.  I 
do  not  dispute  it  for  a  moment,  and  if  you  stand 
out  for  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  I  care  no  more  for  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  than  for  a  hundred  pence ! 
However,  I  am  not  talking  of  myself,  but  of  my 
daughter.  Well,  I  can't  let  her  marry  a  mason, 
can  I  ?  I  should  have  rather  liked  to  be  the  wife 
of  a  mason,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  what  would 
have  made  me  happy  would  make  her  so.  I 
ought,  in  marrying  her,  to  be  guided  by  received 
opinion,  not  merely  by  my  own." 

"  Well,  then,  madame,  if  this  marriage  suits 
you,  and  suits  your  daughter  equally  well  ..." 

"  Ah,  no !  ...  it  does  not  suit  me  ...  nor 
does  it  suit  my  daughter  any  better.  It  is  a  mar- 
riage ...  to  speak  plainly,  it  is  un  mariage  de 
convenance" 

150 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  it  is  quite  settled  ?  " 

"  No,  or  I  should  scarcely  ask  your  advice.  If 
it  were,  my  daughter  would  be  more  at  ease.  Her 
misgivings  disturb  her,  and  then  ..." 

Mme.  Laroque  sank  back  into  the  shadow  of 
the  hood  over  her  chair  and  added  : 

"  Have  you  any  idea  of  what  is  going  on  in 
that  unfortunate  head  ?  " 

"  None,  madame." 

She  fixed  her  sparkling  eyes  on  me  for  a  mo- 
ment, sighed  deeply,  and  said,  gently  and  sadly : 

"  You  may  go  ...  I  won't  detain  you  any 
longer." 

The  confidence  with  which  I  had  just  been 
honoured,  had  not  surprised  me  much.  For  some 
time  it  had  been  evident  that  Mile.  Marguerite 
reserved  for  M.  de  Be*vallan  whatever  sympathy 
she  had  left  for  humanity.  But  she  seemed  to 
show  rather  a  friendly  preference  than  an  impas- 
sioned tenderness.  And  I  ought  to  say  that  the 
preference  was  quite  intelligible.  I  have  never 
liked  M.  de  Be"vallan,  and  in  these  pages  I  have, 
in  spite  of  myself,  given  a  caricature  rather  than  a 
portrait  of  him,  but  I  admit  that  he  combines 
most  of  the  qualities  and  defects  that  are  popular 
with  women.  He  is  absolutely  devoid  of  mod- 
esty, which  is  a  great  advantage,  as  women  do  not 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

like  it.  He  has  the  cool,  mocking,  and  witty 
assurance  which  nothing  can  daunt,  which  easily 
daunts  others,  and  which  gives  to  its  possessor  a 
kind  of  domination  and  a  factitious  superiority. 
His  tall  figure,  his  bold  features,  his  skill  in  ath- 
letic exercises,  his  reputation  as  a  sportsman,  give 
him  a  manly  authority  which  impresses  the  timid 
sex.  And  he  has  an  air  of  daring,  enterprise,  and 
conquest  which  attracts  and  troubles  women,  and 
fills  their  souls  with  secret  ardour.  Such  advan- 
tages, it  is  true,  are,  as  a  rule,  chiefly  impressive  to 
vulgar  natures ;  but  though,  as  usual,  I  had  at  first 
been  tempted  to-put  Mile.  Marguerite's  nature  on 
a  level  with  her  beauty,  she  had  for  some  time 
past  seemed  to  make  a  positive  parade  of  very 
mediocre  sentiments,  and  I  believed  she  was 
capable  of  yielding  without  resistance  as  without 
enthusiasm,  and  with  the  passive  coldness  of  a 
lifeless  imagination,  to  the  charms  of  a  common- 
place lady-killer,  and,  later,  to  the  yoke  of  a 
respectable  marriage. 

All  this  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  accept 
the  inevitable,  and  I  did  so  more  easily  than  I 
should  have  thought  possible  a  month  ago.  For 
I  had  summoned  all  my  courage  to  combat  the 
first  temptations  of  a  love,  equally  condemned  by 
good  sense  and  by  honour.  And  she  who  had 

152 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

unwittingly  imposed  this  combat  on  me,  had  also 
unwittingly  powerfully  helped  me  in  my  resist- 
ance. If  she  could  not  hide  her  beauty  from  me, 
she  also  unveiled  her  soul,  and  mine  had  recoiled. 
Small  loss,  no  doubt,  for  the  young  millionaire, 
but  a  good  thing  for  me. 

Meanwhile  I  had  to  go  to  Paris,  partly  on 
Mme.  Laroque's  business  and  partly  on  my  own. 
I  returned  two  days  ago,  and  as  I  arrived  at  the 
chateau  I  was  told  that  old  M.  Laroque  had 
repeatedly  asked  for  me  since  the  morning.  I 
hurried  to  his  apartment.  A  smile  flickered 
across  his  withered  cheeks  as  he  saw  me.  He 
looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  malignant  joy 
and  secret  triumph  ;  then  he  said,  in  his  dull,  hol- 
low voice  : 

"  M.  de  Saint-Cast  is  dead." 

This  news,  which  the  strange  old  man  had 
wanted  to  tell  me  himself,  was  correct.  On  the 
previous  night  poor  General  de  Saint-Cast  had 
had  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  and  an  hour  later  had 
been  snatched  from  the  life  of  wealth  and  luxury 
which  he  owed  to  his  wife.  Directly  the  news 
came 'to  the  chateau,  Mme.  Aubry  had  started  off 
to  her  friend,  and  the  two  had,  as  Dr.  Desmarets 
told  us,  passed  the  day  chanting  a  sort  of  litany  of 
original  and  piquant  ideas  on  the  subject  of  death 

153 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

— the  swiftness  with  which  it  strikes  its  prey,  the 
impossibility  of  preventing  or  guarding  against  it, 
the  futility  of  regrets,  which  cannot  bring  back  the 
departed,  the  consoling  effects  of  time,  etc.,  etc. 

After  which  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  and 
gradually  recovered  their  spirits.  "  Madame," 
said  Mme.  Aubry,  "you  must  eat,  you  must  keep 
yourself  alive.  It  is  our  duty  and  the  will  of 
God." 

At  dessert  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast  had  a  bottle  of 
the  poor  general's  favourite  Spanish  wine,  and 
begged  Mme.  Aubry  to  taste  it  for  his  sake.  But, 
as  Mme.  Aubry  firmly  refused  to  be  the  only  one 
to  partake  of  it,  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast  allowed  her- 
self to  be  persuaded  that  God  also  wished  her  to 
have  a  glass  of  Spanish  wine  and  a  crust  of  bread. 
The  general's  health  was  not  drunk.  Early  yester- 
day morning,  Mme.  Laroque  and  her  daughter, 
both  in  mourning,  took  their  places  in  the  car- 
riage. I  accompanied  them.  About  ten  o'clock 
we  were  at  the  little  town.  While  I  attended  the 
general's  funeral,  the  ladies  joined  the  widow's 
circle  of  official  sympathizers.  After  the  service 
I  returned  to  the  house,  and  with  some  other 
friends  I  was  introduced  into  the  famous  drawing- 
room,  the  furniture  of  which  had  cost  fifteen 
thousand  francs.  In  the  funereal  half-light  I  dis- 

154 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

tinguished  the  inconsolable  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast 
sitting  on  a  twelve-hundred-franc  sofa,  enveloped 
in  crape,  the  price  of  which  we  were  told  before 
long.  At  her  side  was  Mme.  Aubry,  an  image  of 
physical  and  moral  prostration.  Half  a  dozen 
friends  and  relatives  completed  this  doleful  group. 
As  we  took  up  our  positions  in  line  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  salon,  there  was  a  sound  of  shuffling 
feet  and  some  cracking  of  the  parquet,  then 
gloomy  silence  fell  again  on  this  mausoleum. 
Only  from  time  to  time  a  lamentable  sigh,  faith- 
fully echoed  by  Mme.  Aubry,  rose  from  the 
sofa. 

At  last  a  young  man  appeared.  He  had  lin- 
gered in  the  street  to  finish  the  cigar  he  had  lighted 
as  he  left  the  cemetery.  As  he  slipped  discreetly 
into  our  ranks  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast  perceived  him. 

"  Is  that  you,  Arthur  ? "  she  said  in  a  lugu- 
brious voice. 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  said  the  young  man,  advancing 
in  front  of  the  line. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  widow,  in  the  same 
plaintive  drawl,  "is  it  over?" 

"Yes,  aunt,"  said  Arthur,  in  curt,  deliberate 
accents.  He  seemed  to  be  a  young  man  who  was 
perfectly  satisfied  with  himself. 

There  was  a  pause,  after  which  Mme.  de  Saint- 
155 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Cast  drew  from  the  depths  of  her  expiring  soul 
this  new  series  of  questions  : 

"Did  it  go  off  well?" 

44  Very  well,  aunt,  very  well." 

44  Were  there  many  people  ?" 

44  The  whole  town,  aunt,  the  whole  town." 

"The  military?" 

4<  Yes,  aunt,  the  whole  garrison,  and  the  band." 

Mme.  de  Saint-Cast  groaned,  and  added  : 

"The  fire  brigade?" 

"  The  fire  brigade  too,  aunt — certainly." 

I  do  not  quite  see  why  this  last  detail  should 
have  particularly  affected  Mme.  de  Saint-Cast,  but 
she  could  not  resist  it.  A  sudden  swoon,  accom- 
panied by  infantile  waitings,  summoned  all  the 
resources  of  feminine  sensibility  to  her  aid,  and 
gave  us  the  opportunity  of  slipping  away.  I  was 
glad  of  it.  I  could  not  bear  to  see  this  ridiculous 
vixen  performing  her  hypocritical  mummeries 
over  the  tomb  of  the  weak,  but  good  and  loyal 
fellow,  whose  life  she  had  embittered,  and  whose 
end  she  had  probably  hastened. 

A  few  moments  later,  Mme.  Laroque  asked 
me  to  accompany  her  to  the  Langoat  farm,  five  or 
six  leagues  farther  on  towards  the  coast.  She 
intended  to  dine  there  with  her  daughter.  The 
farmer's  wife,  who  had  been  Mile.  Marguerite's 

1*6 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

nurse,  was  ill,  and  the  ladies  had  for  some  time 
meant  to  give  her  this  proof  of  their  interest  in 
her  welfare.  We  started  at  two  o  clock  in  the 
afternoon.  It  was  one  of  the  hottest  days  of  this 
hot  summer.  Through  the  open  windows  of  the 
carriage,  the  heavy,  burning  gusts  which  rose  in 
waves  from  the  parched  lande  under  the  torrid 
sky,  swept  across  us. 

The  conversation  suffered  from  our  oppression. 
Mme.  Laroque,  who  declared  that  she  was  in  para- 
dise, had  at  last  thrown  off  her  furs  and  remained 
sunk  in  a  gentle  ecstasy.  Mile.  Marguerite  fanned 
herself  with  Spanish  gravity.  While  we  slowly 
climbed  the  interminable  hills,  we  saw  the  calcined 
rocks  swarming  with  legions  of  silver-coated  liz- 
ards, and  heard  the  continuous  crackling  of  the 
furze  opening  its  ripe  pods  to  the  sun. 

In  the  middle  of  one  of  our  laborious  ascents 
a  voice  suddenly  called  out  from  the  side  of  the 
road : 

"  Stop,  if  you  please." 

At  the  same  time  a  big  girl  with  bare  legs, 
holding  a  distaff  in  her  hand,  and  wearing  the  an- 
cient costume  and  ducal  coif  of  the  peasants  of 
this  country,  leaped  quickly  across  the  ditch,  knock- 
ing over  as  she  came  along  some  of  the  sheep  she 
was  tending.  She  perched  herself  with  a  kind  of 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

grace  on  the  carriage-step,  and  stood  before  us 
with  her  brown,  self-possessed,  and  smiling  face 
framed  in  the  window. 

"  Pardon,  ladies,"  she  said  in  the  quick,  melo- 
dious tones  of  her  country,  "  will  you  be  so  kind 
as  to  read  this  to  me  ?  " 

She  took  from  her  bodice  a  letter  folded  in  the 
ancient  fashion. 

"  Read  it,  M.  Odiot,"  said  Mme.  Laroque, 
laughing,  "  and  read  it  aloud,  if  necessary." 

It  was  a  love-letter,  addressed  very  carefully  to 
Mile.  Christine  Ogadec, 's  Farm,  in  the  com- 
mune of  ,  near .  It  was  written  by  an 

awkward  but  sincere  hand.  The  date  showed  that 
Mile.  Christine  had  received  it  two  or  three  weeks 
ago.  Not  being  able  to  read,  and  fearing  to  trust 
her  secret  to  the  ill-nature  of  her  associates,  the 
poor  girl  had  kept  the  letter  in  the  hope  that  some 
passing  stranger,  at  once  good-natured  and  edu- 
cated, would  interpret  the  mystery  that  had  been 
burning  in  her  bosom  for  more  than  a  fortnight. 
Her  blue,  wide-opened  eyes  were  fixed  on  me  with 
an  air  of  ineffable  satisfaction  as  I  laboriously  read 
the  sloping  lines  which  conveyed  this  message  : 

"  Mademoiselle,  this  is  to  tell  you  that  my  in- 
tentions have  not  changed  since  the  day  we  spoke 
on  the  lande  after  vespers,  and  that  I  am  anxious 

158 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

about  yours.  My  heart  is  all  yours,  mademoiselle, 
and  I  wish  yours  to  be  all  mine  ;  and  if  it  is  you 
may  be  sure  and  certain  that  no  one  alive  is  hap- 
pier on  earth  or  in  heaven  than  your  friend — who 
does  not  put  his  name  here,  but  you  know  quite 
well  who  he  is,  mademoiselle." 

"And  do  you  know,  Mile.  Christine?"  I  said, 
returning  the  letter. 

"  Very  likely  I  do,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  that 
showed  her  white  teeth,  while  she  gravely  nodded, 
her  young  face  radiant  with  happiness.  "  Thank 
you,  ladies  and  gentleman  !  " 

She  jumped  off  the  step  and  soon  disappeared 
among  the  bushes,  chanting  as  she  went  the  deep 
and  joyful  notes  of  some  Bretonne  ballad. 

Mme.  Laroque  had  followed  with  evident  rap- 
ture all  the  details  of  this  pastoral  scene,  which 
harmonized  deliciously  with  her  favourite  fan- 
cies. She  smiled  and  dreamed  at  the  vision  of 
this  happy,  barefooted  girl  as  if  she  were  under  a 
spell.  However,  when  Mile.  Ogadec  was  out  of 
sight,  a  strange  notion  came  into  Mme.  Laroque's 
head.  After  all,  she  thought,  it  would  not  have 
been  a  bad  thing  to  have  given  the  girl  a  five-franc 
piece — in  addition  to  her  admiration. 

"  Call  her  back,  Alain,"  she  cried. 

"  But,  mother,  why  ? "  said  Mile.  Marguerite 
159 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

quickly,  though  so  far  she  had  apparently  taken  no 
notice  of  the  incident. 

"  My  dear  child,  perhaps  this  girl  does  not 
thoroughly  understand  how  much  I  should  enjoy, 
and  how  much  she  ought  to  enjoy,  running  about 
barefooted  in  the  dust.  It  would  be  nice,  at  any 
rate,  to  leave  her  some  little  souvenir." 

"  Money  !  "  replied  Mile.  Marguerite.  "  Oh, 
mother,  don't !  Don't  soil  her  happiness  with 
money." 

This  delicate  sentiment — which,  by  the  way, 
poor  Christine  might  not  have  appreciated — was 
astonishing  enough  in  the  mouth  of  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite, who  did  not,  as  a  rule,  pride  herself  on 
such  subtlety.  Indeed,  I  thought  she  was  joking, 
though  she  showed  no  signs  of  amusement.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  her  mother  took  the  caprice 
very  seriously.  It  was  decided  enthusiastically  to 
leave  this  idyll  to  innocence  and  bare  feet. 

After  this  pretty  episode  Mme.  Laroque  re- 
lapsed into  her  smiling  ecstasy,  and  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite fanned  herself  more  seriously  than  ever. 
An  hour  later  we  reached  our  destination.  Like 
most  of  the  farms  in  this  country,  where  the  up- 
lands and  plateaux  are  the  sterile  lande,  the  farm 
of  Langoat  lies  in  the  hollow  of  a  valley,  with 
a  water-course  running  through  it. 

1 60 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

The  farmer's  wife  was  better,  and  at  once  set 
to  work  preparing  dinner,  the  chief  elements  of 
which  we  had  been  careful  to  bring  with  us.  It 
was  served  on  the  natural  lawn  of  a  meadow, 
under  the  shade  of  an  enormous  chestnut.  Mme. 
Laroque,  though  sitting  in  a  most  uncomfortable 
attitude,  on  one  of  the  cushions  from  the  carriage, 
seemed  perfectly  radiant.  She  said  our  party  re- 
minded her  of  the  groups  of  reapers  we  see 
crowding  under  the  shade  of  a  hedge,  whose  rus- 
tic feasts  she  had  always  envied.  As  for  me,  I 
might  perhaps  at  another  time  have  found  a  sin- 
gular sweetness  in  the  close  and  easy  intimacy, 
which  an  outdoor  meal  of  this  kind  usually  cre- 
ates among  the  guests.  But,  with  a  painful  feel- 
ing of  constraint,  I  thrust  away  an  enjoyment 
that  might  inflict  regret,  and  the  bread  of  this 
transient  fraternity  was  bitter  in  my  mouth. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  up  there  ?  "  said  Mine. 
Laroque  to  me  as  we  finished  dinner.  She  indi- 
cated the  top  of  a  lofty  hill  which  commanded 
the  meadow  we  were  in. 

"  No,  madame." 

"  Oh,  but  you  should  go.  You  get  such  a 
lovely  view.  You  must  see  it  ...  Marguerite 
will  take  you  while  they're  putting  the  horses  in. 
Won't  you?" 

l6l  9— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  I,  mother  ?  I  have  only  been  there  once, 
and  it  was  a  long  time  ago  .  .  .  However,  I 
daresay  I  can  find  the  way.  Come,  M.  Odiot, 
and  be  prepared  for  a  stiff  climb." 

Mile.  Marguerite  and  I  started  at  once  to 
climb  a  very  steep  path  which  wound  along  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  passing  in  some  places 
through  clumps  of  trees.  The  girl  stopped  from 
time  to  time  in  her  swift  and  easy  ascent  to  see  if 
I  were  following  her,  and,  panting  a  little,  smiled 
at  me  without  speaking.  On  reaching  the  bare 
heath  which  formed  the  plateau,  I  saw,  a  short 
way  off,  a  village  church,  the  lines  of  its  little 
steeple  sharply  defined  against  the  sky. 

"  That's  where  it  is,"  said  my  young  guide, 
quickening  her  pace. 

Beyond  the  church  was  a  cemetery  shut  in  by 
walls.  She  opened  the  gate,  and  made  her  way 
with  difficulty  through  the  tall  grass  and  trailing 
brambles,  which  choked  the  place  of  rest,  towards 
a  kind  of  semicircular  perron  which  stood  at  the 
farther  end.  Two  or  three  rough  steps,  defaced 
by  time  and  rather  strangely  ornamented  with 
massive  balls,  led  to  a  narrow  platform  raised  to 
the  level  of  the  wall.  A  granite  cross  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  semicircle. 

Mile.  Marguerite  had  scarcely  reached  the 
162 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

* 

platform  and  looked  into  the  space  that  opened 
before  her,  when  I  saw  her  place  her  hand  before 
her  eyes  as  if  she  were  suddenly  dazzled.  I  has- 
tened to  join  her.  The  beautiful  day,  nearing  to 
its  end,  lighted  with  its  last  splendours  a  scene  so 
vast,  so  strange,  and  so  sublime,  that  I  shall  never 
forget  it. 

Facing  us,  and  at  a  great  depth  below  the 
platform,  extended,  farther  than  we  could  see,  a 
sort  of  marsh  studded  with  shining  patches,  and 
looking  like  a  region  slowly  emerging  from  a 
deluge.  This  great  bay  stretched  from  under  our 
feet  to  the  heart  of  the  jagged  mountains.  On 
the  banks  of  mud  and  sand  which  separated  the 
shifting  lagoons,  a  growth  of  reeds  and  sea  plants 
tinged  with  a  thousand  shades,  sombre  but  dis- 
tinct, contrasted  sharply  with  the  gleaming  sur- 
faces of  the  waters.  At  each  of  its  rapid  strides 
to  the  horizon,  the  sun  lit  up  or  darkened  some 
of  the  many  lakes  which  checkered  the  half-dried 
gulf.  He  seemed  to  take  in  turn  from  his  celes- 
tial casket  the  most  precious  substances, — silver 
and  gold,  ruby  and  diamond — and  make  them 
flash  on  each  point  of  this  gorgeous  plain.  As 
the  planet  neared  the  end  of  his  career,  a  strip 
of  undulating  mist  at  the  farther  limit  of  the 
marshes,  reddened  all  at  once  with  the  glare  of  a 

163 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

conflagration,  and  for  a  moment,  kept  the  radiant 
transparency  of  a  cloud  furrowed  by  lightning. 
I  was  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  a  pic- 
ture so  full  of  divine  grandeur,  and  enriched  as 
with  another  ray  of  glory  by  the  great  memory 
of  Caesar,  when  a  low,  half -stifled  voice  mur- 
mured : 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful  it  is ! " 

I  hadvnot  expected  this  sympathetic  outburst 
from  my  companion.  I  turned  eagerly  towards 
her  with  a  surprise  that  was  not  lessened,  when  the 
emotion  in  her  face,  and  the  slight  trembling  of 
her  lips,  had  convinced  me  of  the  profound  sincer- 
ity of  her  admiration. 

"You  admit  that  it  is  beautiful?"  I  said 
to  her. 

She  shook  her  head  ;  but  at  the  same  moment 
two  tears  fell  slowly  from  her  great  eyes.  She 
felt  them  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  made  a  gesture 
of  annoyance,  and  then  throwing  herself  suddenly 
on  the  granite  cross,  on  the  base  of  which  she  was 
standing,  she  embraced  it  with  both  hands,  pressed 
her  head  close  against  the  stone,  and  sobbed 
convulsively. 

I  did  not  think  it  right  to  say  a  word  that 
might  trouble  the  course  of  this  sudden  emotion, 
and  I  turned  reverently  away.  After  a  moment, 

164 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

seeing  her  raise  her  forehead,  and  hastily  replace 
her  loosened  hair,  I  came  nearer. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,"  she  murmured. 

"  You  have  more  reason  to  rejoice.  Believe 
me,  you  must  give  up  trying  to  destroy  the  source 
of  those  tears  ;  it  is  holy.  Besides,  you  will  never 
succeed." 

"  I  must,"  said  the  girl  desperately.  "  See,  it 
is  done  !  This  weakness  took  me  by  surprise.  I 
want  to  hate  everything  that  is  good  and  beau- 
tiful." 

"  In  God's  name,  why?" 

"  Because  I  am  beautiful,  and  I  can  never  be 
loved." 

Then,  as  a  long-repressed  torrent  bursts  its 
barriers  at  last,  she  continued,  with  extraordinary 
energy  : 

"  It  is  true." 

She  put  her  hand  on  her  heaving  bosom. 

"  God  had  put  into  this  heart  all  the  qualities 
that  I  ridicule,  that  I  blaspheme  every  hour  of 
the  day.  But  when  he  condemned  me  to  be  rich, 
he  withdrew  with  one  hand  all  that  he  had  lavished 
with  the  other.  What  is  the  good  of  my  beauty  ? 
What  is  the  good  of  the  devotion,  tenderness,  and 
enthusiasm  which  I  feel  burning  within  me? 
These  are  not  the  charms  which  make  so  many 

165 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

cowards  weary  me  with  their  homage.  I  see  it — 
I  know  it — I  know  it  too  well.  And  if  ever 
some  disinterested,  generous,  and  heroic  soul  loved 
me  for  what  I  am,  and  not  for  what  I  have  .  .  . 
I  should  never  know  .  .  .  never  believe  it.  Eter- 
nal mistrust !  That  is  my  sentence — that  is  my 
torture.  So  I  have  decided  ...  I  will  never 
love.  I  will  never  pour  into  some  vile,  worthless, 
and  venal  heart  the  pure  passion  which  is  burning 
in  mine.  My  soul  will  die  virgin  in  my  bosom. 
Well,  I  am  resigned,  but — everything  that  is  beau- 
tiful, everything  that  sets  me  dreaming,  everything 
that  speaks  to  me  of  realms  forbidden,  everything 
that  stirs  these  vain  fires  in  me — I  thrust  it  away, 
I  hate  it,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

She  stopped,  trembling ;  then,  in  a  lower  tone, 
she  said : 

"  Monsieur,  I  did  not  seek  this  opportunity. 
I  have  not  chosen  my  words  ...  I  did  not  mean 
to  tell  you,  but  I  have  spoken  .  .  .  you  know  all, 
and  if  at  any  time  I  have  wounded  your  feelings, 
I  think  you  will  forgive  me  now." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  When  my  lips  touched 
that  soft  hand,  still  wet  with  tears,  a  mortal  Ian- 
gour  stole  through  my  veins.  Marguerite  turned 
her  head  away,  looked  into  the  sombre  sky,  and 
then  slowly  descended  the  steps. 

166 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said. 

Another  road,  longer,  but  easier  than  the  steep 
ascent  of  the  mountain,  brought  us  into  the  farm- 
yard. Neither  of  us  spoke  a  single  word  the 
whole  way.  What  could  I  have  said,  I  who  was 
more  to  be  suspected  than  any  other  ?  I  felt  that 
every  word  from  my  overcharged  heart  would 
separate  me  still  further  from  this  stormy,  but 
adorable  soul. 

Night  had  fallen,  and  hid  from  every  one  the 
signs  of  our  common  emotion.  We  drove  away. 
After  telling  us  again  how  much  she  had  enjoyed 
her  day,  Mme.  Laroque  gave  herself  up  to  dream- 
ing about  it.  Mile.  Marguerite,  invisible  and  mo- 
tionless in  the  deep  shadow,  seemed  also  to  be 
sleeping ;  but  when  a  bend  in  the  road  caused  a 
ray  of  pale  light  to  fall  upon  her,  the  fixed  and 
open  eyes  showed  that  she  was  wakeful  and  silent, 
beset  by  the  thought  that  caused  her  despair.  I 
can  scarcely  say  what  I  felt.  A  strange  sensation 
of  deep  joy  and  deep  bitterness  possessed  me  en- 
tirely. I  yielded  to  it  as  one  sometimes  yields 
consciously  to  a  dream  the  charm  of  which  we  are 
not  strong  enough  to  resist. 

We  reached  home  about  midnight. 

I  got  down  at  the  beginning  of  the  avenue, 
and  took  the  short  way  through  the  park  to  my 

167 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

quarters.  Entering  a  dim  alley,  I  heard  a  faint 
sound  of  voices  and  approaching  footsteps,  and 
saw  vaguely  in  the  darkness  two  shadowy  figures. 
It  was  late  enough  to  justify  me  in  stepping  into 
a  clump  of  trees,  to  watch  these  nocturnal  wan- 
derers. They  passed  slowly  in  front  of  me.  I 
\ecognised  Mile.  Helouin  ;  she  was  leaning  on  M. 
de  Be*vallan's  arm.  At  this  moment  the  sound  of 
the  carriage  alarmed  them  ;  they  shook  hands  and 
separated  hurriedly,  Mile.  Helouin  going  towards 
the  chateau,  the  other  to  the  woods. 

In  my  own  room,  fresh  from  my  adventure,  I 
asked  myself  indignantly  whether  I  was  to  allow 
M.  de  Be*vallan  to  carry  on  his  double  love  affair 
uninterrupted,  and  to  let  him  find  a  fiancde  and  a 
mistress  in  the  same  house.  I  am  too  much  a 
man  of  my  age  and  time  to  feel  the  Puritan's  hor- 
ror of  certain  weaknesses,  and  I  am  not  hypocrite 
enough  to  affect  what  I  do  not  feel.  But  I  be- 
lieve that  the  morality  which  is  easiest  and  most 
indulgent  in  this  respect,  still  demands  some  de- 
gree of  dignity,  self-respect,  and  delicacy.  Even 
in  these  devious  ways  a  man  must  walk  straight  to 
some  extent.  The  real  excuse  of  love  is  that  it  is 
love.  But  M.  de  B6vallan's  catholic  tendernesses 
exclude  all  possibility  of  self-forgetful  passion. 
Such  love-affairs  are  not  even  sins ;  they  are  some- 

168 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

thing  altogether  lower  in  the  moral  scale  ;  they  are 
but  the  calculations  and  the  wagers  of  brutalized 
horse-dealers. 

The  various  incidents  of  this  evening,  com- 
bined to  convince  me,  that  this  man  was  utterly 
unworthy  of  the  hand  and  heart  he  dared  to  covet. 
Such  a  union  would  be  monstrous.  But  I  saw  at 
once,  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  prevent  it  by 
using  the  weapons  that  chance  had  put  into  my 
hands.  The  best  of  objects  does  not  justify  base 
methods,  and  nothing  can  excuse  the  informer. 
This  marriage  will  take  place,  and  heaven  will  per- 
mit one  of  its  noblest  creatures  to  fall  into  the 
arms  of  a  cold-hearted  libertine.  It  will  permit 
that  profanation.  Alas,  it  allows  so  many  others ! 

I  tried  to  imagine  how  this  young  girl  could 
have  chosen  this  man,  by  what  process  of  false 
reasoning  she  had  come  to  prefer  him  to  all  others. 
I  think  I  have  guessed.  M.  de  Be*vallan  is  very 
rich  ;  he  brings  a  fortune  nearly  equal  to  the  one 
he  acquires.  That  is  a  kind  of  guarantee ;  he 
could  do  without  this  additional  wealth  ;  he  is 
assumed  to  be  more  disinterested  than  others, 
because  he  is  better  off. 

How  foolish  an  argument !  What  a  terrible 
mistake  to  estimate  people's  venality  by  the  amount 
of  their  wealth  !  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  opu- 

169 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

lence  increases  greed  !  The  most  self-seeking  are 
not  the  poorest ! 

Was  there,  then,  no  hope  that  Marguerite 
would  see  the  worthlessness  of  her  choice,  no  hope 
that  her  own  heart  would  give  her  the  counsel  I 
could  not  suggest  ?  Might  not  a  new,  unlooked- 
for  feeling  arise  in  her  heart,  and,  breathing  on  the 
vain  resolutions  of  reason,  destroy  them  ?  Was 
not  this  feeling  already  born,  indeed,  and  had  I 
not  received  irrefutable  proofs  of  it  ?  The  strange 
caprices,  the  humiliations,  struggles,  and  tears  of 
which  I  had  been  so  long  the  object,  or  the  wit- 
ness, proclaimed  beyond  doubt  a  reason  that  wa- 
vered, not  mistress  of  itself.  I  had  seen  enough 
of  life,  to  know  that  a  scene  like  that  of  which 
chance  had  this  evening  made  me  the  confidant, 
and  almost  the  accomplice,  does  not,  however 
spontaneous  it  may  seem,  occur  in  an  atmosphere 
of  indifference.  Such  emotions,  such  shocks,  prove 
that  there  are  two  souls  already  shaken  by  the 
same  storm,  or  about  to  be  so  shaken. 

But  if  it  were  true,  if  she  loved  me,  as  too  cer- 
tainly I  loved  her,  I  might  say  of  that  love  what 
she  had  said  of  her  beauty:  "  What  is  the  good  of 
it  ? "  For  I  could  never  hope  that  it  would  be 
strong  enough  to  triumph  over  the  eternal  mis- 
trust, which  is  at  once  the  defect,  and  quality,  of 

170 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

that  noble  girl.  My  character,  I  dare  say  it,  re- 
sents the  outrage  of  this  mistrust ;  but  my  situa- 
tion, more  than  that  of  any  other,  is  calculated  to 
rouse  it.  What  miracle  is  to  bridge  the  abyss 
between  these  suspicions,  and  the  reserve  they 
force  upon  me  ? 

Finally,  granting  the  miracle,  if  she  offered  me 
the  hand  for  which  I  would  give  my  life,  but  for 
which  I  will  never  ask,  would  our  union  be 
happy  ?  Should  I  not  have  to  fear,  early  or  late, 
in  this  restless  imagination,  the  slow  awakening  of 
a  half-stifled  mistrust  ?  Could  I,  in  the  midst  of 
wealth  not  mine,  guard  myself  against  misgivings? 
Could  I  really  be  happy  in  a  love  that  is  sullied 
by  being  a  benefit  as  well  ?  Our  part  as  the  pro- 
tector of  women  is  so  strictly  laid  upon  us  by  all 
sentiments  of  honour,  that  it  cannot,  even  from 
the  highest  motives,  be  reversed  for  an  instant 
without  casting  upon  us  some  shadow  of  doubt 
and  suspicion.  Truly,  wealth  is  not  so  great  an 
advantage  that  we  cannot  find  some  counterpoise 
to  it.  I  imagine  that  a  man  who  brings  his  wife> 
in  exchange  for  some  bags  of  gold,  a  name  that 
he  has  made  illustrious,  acknowledged  worth,  a 
great  position,  or  the  promise  of  a  great  future, 
does  not  feel  that  he  is  under  a  crushing  obliga- 
tion. But  my  hands  are  empty,  my  future  is  no 

171 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

better  than  my  present ;  of  all  the  advantages 
which  the  world  worships  I  have  only  one — my 
title — and  I  am  determined  not  to  bear  it,  that  it 
may  not  be  said  it  was  the  price  of  a  bargain.  I 
should  receive  all  and  give  nothing.  A  king  may 
marry  a  shepherdess ;  that  is  generous  and  charm- 
ing, and  we  congratulate  him  with  good  reason ; 
but  a  shepherd  who  lets  a  queen  marry  him  does 
not  cut  so  fine  a  figure. 

I  have  spent  the  night  thinking  these  things 
over,  and  seeking  a  solution  that  I  have  not  yet 
found.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  leave  this  house  and 
this  place  at  once.  Prudence  counsels  it.  This 
business  cannot  end  well.  How  often  one  minute 
of  courage  and  firmness  would  spare  us  a  lifetime 
of  regret  I  I  ought  at  least  to  be  overwhelmed  by 
sadness ;  I  have  never  had  such  good  reason  for 
melancholy.  But  I  cannot  grieve.  My  brain, 
distracted  and  tortured,  yet  holds  a  thought  which 
dominates  everything,  and  fills  me  with  more  than 
mortal  joy.  My  soul  is  as  light  as  a  bird  of  the 
air.  I  see — I  shall  always  see — that  little  cemetery, 
that  distant  ocean,  that  vast  horizon,  and  on  that 
glowing  hilltop,  that  angel  of  beauty  bathed  in 
divine  tears  !  Still,  I  feel  her  hand  under  my  lips, 
her  tears  in  my  eyes  and  in  my  heart.  I  love 
her.'  Well,  to-morrow,  if  so  it  must  be,  I  will 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

decide.  Till  then,  for  God's  sake,  let  me  have  a 
little  rest.  I  have  not  been  overdone  with  happi- 
ness. I  may  die  of  this  love,  but  I  will  live  in 
peace  with  it  for  one  day  at  least. 

August  s6th. 

That  day,  the  single  day  I  asked,  has  not  been 
granted  me.  My  brief  weakness  has  not  had  long 
to  wait  for  its  punishment,  which  will  be  lasting. 
How  could  I  have  forgotten  ?  Moral  laws  can 
no  more  be  broken  with  impunity  than  physical, 
and  their  invariable  action  constitutes  the  perma- 
nent intervention  of  what  we  call  Providence  in 
the  affairs  of  this  world.  A  great,  though  weak 
man,  writing  the  gospel  of  a  sage  with  the  hand 
of  a  quasi-maniac,  said  of  the  passions  that  were  at 
once  his  misery,  his  reproach,  and  his  glory  : 

"  All  are  good  while  we  are  their  masters ;  all 
are  bad  when  we  let  them  enslave  us.  Nature 
forbids  us  to  let  our  attachments  exceed  our 
strength ;  reason  forbids  us  to  desire  what  we 
cannot  obtain ;  conscience  does  not  forbid  us  to 
be  tempted,  it  does  forbid  us  to  yield  to  tempta- 
tion. It  does  not  rest  with  us  to  have  or  not  to 
have  passions,  but  it  does  rest  with  us  to  control 
them.  All  the  feelings  which  we  govern  are  legit- 
imate ;  all  those  that  govern  us  are  criminal. 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Attach  your  heart  only  to  the  beauty  that  does 
not  perish  ;  limit  your  desires  by  your  conditions ; 
put  your  duties  before  your  passions ;  extend  the 
law  of  necessity  to  things  moral ;  learn  to  lose 
what  may  be  taken  from  you ;  learn  to  give  up 
everything  at  the  command  of  virtue  ! " 

Yes,  such  is  the  law.  I  knew  it ;  I  have 
broken  it ;  I  am  punished.  It  is  right  I  had 
scarcely  set  foot  on  my  cloud  of  folly  when  I  was 
thrown  violently  off,  and  now,  after  five  days,  I 
have  barely  courage  to  recount  the  almost  ridicu- 
lous details  of  my  downfall. 

Mme.  Laroque  and  her  daughter  had  gone  in 
the  morning  to  pay  another  visit  to  Mme.  de 
Saint-Cast,  and  to  bring  back  Mme.  Aubry.  I 
found  Mile.  He*louin  alone  at  the  chateau.  I  had 
brought  her  quarter's  salary ;  for,  though  my 
duties  do  not,  in  a  general  way,  trench  on  the 
maintenance  and  internal  discipline  of  the  house, 
the  ladies  had  wished,  no  doubt  from  considera- 
tion for  Mile.  Helouin  and  for  me,  that  I  should 
pay  both  our  salaries.  The  young  lady  was  sit- 
ting in  the  small  boudoir  near  the  dining-room. 
She  received  me  with  a  pensive  sweetness  which 
touched  me.  For  at  that  moment  I  felt  in  myself 
that  fulness  of  heart  which  inclines  us  to  confi- 
dence and  kindness.  I  quixotically  resolved  to 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

hold  out  a  helping  hand  to  this  poor  lonely 
creature. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  abruptly,  "^you  have 
withdrawn  your  friendship  from  me,  but  my 
friendship  for  you  remains  unaltered.  May  I 
give  you  a  proof  of  it  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  and  murmured  a  timid 
assent. 

"  Well,  my  poor  child,  you  are  bent  on  your 
own  ruin." 

She  rose  quickly. 

"You  saw  me  in  the  park  that  night!"  she 
cried. 

"  I  did." 

"My  God!" 

She  came  towards  me. 

"M.  Maxime,  I  swear  to  you  that  I  am  a 
virtuous  girl." 

"  I  believe  it,  mademoiselle,  but  I  must  warn 
you  that  in  this  little  romance,  perfectly  innocent, 
no  doubt,  on  your  side,  whatever  it  may  be  on  the 
other,  you  are  imperilling  your  reputation  and 
your  peace  of  mind.  I  beg  you  to  reflect  seri- 
ously on  this  matter,  and  at  the  same  time  I  beg 
to  assure  you  that  no  one  but  you  will  ever  hear  a 
word  on  this  subject  from  me." 

I  was  leaving  the  room,  when  she  sank  on  her 
175 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

knees  before  a  couch,  and  burst  out  sobbing,  lean- 
ing her  forehead  against  my  hand,  which  she  had 
seized.  It  was  not  long  since  I  had  seen  sweeter 
and  nobler  tears,  but  still  I  was  touched. 

"  Come,  my  dear  young  lady,"  I  said ;  "  it  is 
not  too  late,  is  it  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  decisively. 

"  Very  well,  my  child.  Be  brave,  and  we  will 
save  you.  What  can  I  do  to  help  you — tell  me  ? 
Has  this  man  any  proof,  any  letter,  I  can  demand 
from  him  on  your  behalf  ?  Command  me  as  if  I 
were  your  brother." 

She  released  my  hand  angrily. 

"  How  hard  you  are  !"  she  said.  "  You  talk 
of  saving  me  ...  it  is  you  who  are  ruining  me. 
After  pretending  to  love  me,  you  repulsed  me 
.  .  .  you  have  humiliated  me  and  made  me  des- 
perate. You  are  the  sole  cause  of  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  unjust.  I  never  pre- 
tended to  love  you.  I  had  a  sincere  affection  for 
you,  and  I  have  it  still.  I  admit  that  your 
beauty,  your  wit,  and  your  talents  fully  entitle 
you  to  look  for  more  than  fraternal  friendship 
from  those  who  see  you  every  day.  But  my 
situation,  and  my  duties  to  my  family  preclude  my 
indulging  any  other  feeling  for  you  without  being 

176 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

dishonourable.  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  think 
you  are  charming,  and  I  assure  you  that  in  re- 
stricting my  sentiments  towards  you  within  the 
limits  imposed  by  loyalty,  I  have  not  been  with- 
out merit.  I  see  nothing  humiliating  for  you  in 
that ;  what  might,  indeed,  humiliate  you,  mad- 
emoiselle, would  be  the  determined  pursuit  of  a 
man  determined  not  to  marry  you." 

She  gave  me  an  evil  look. 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  she  said. 
"  Every  man  is  not  a  fortune-hunter." 

"  Oh  !  mademoiselle,  are  you  a  spiteful  little 
person  ?"  I  said,  very  calmly.  "  If  so,  I  will  wish 
you  good-day." 

"  M.  Maxime  !  "  she  cried,  rushing  forward  to 
stop  me,  "  forgive  me  !  have  pity  on  me  !  Alas  ! 
I  am  so  unhappy.  Imagine  what  must  be  the 
thoughts  of  a  poor  creature  like  me,  who  has  been 
given — cruelly — a  heart,  a  soul,  a  brain  .  .  .  and 
who  can  only  use  them  to  suffer  .  .  .  and  to 
hate  !  What  is  my  life  ?  What  is  my  future  ? 
My  life  is  the  perception  of  my  poverty,  cease- 
lessly aggravated  by  the  luxury  which  surrounds 
me !  My  future  will  be  to  regret,  some  day,  to 
weep  bitterly  for  even  this  life — this  slave's  life, 
odious  as  it  is  !  You  talk  of  my  youth,  my  wit, 
and  my  talents.  Would  that  I  had  never  had  the 

177 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

capacity  for  anything  higher  than  breaking  stones 
on  the  road !  I  should  have  been  happier.  My 
talents  !  I  shall  have  passed  the  best  part  of  my 
life  in  decking  another  woman  with  them,  and 
giving  her  thereby  additional  beauty,  power — and 
insolence.  And  when  my  best  blood  has  passed 
into  this  doll's  veins,  she  will  go  off  on  the  arm  of 
a  happy  husband  to  take  her  part  in  the  best 
pleasures  of  life,  while,  old,  solitary,  and  deserted, 
I  shall  go  to  die  in  some  hole  with  the  pension  of 
a  lady's  maid.  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  this 
fate,  tell  me  that  ?  Why  should  it  be  mine  rather 
than  that  of  those  other  women  ?  Because  I  am 
not  as  good  as  they  are  ?  If  I  am  bad,  it  is  be- 
cause suffering  has  envenomed  me,  because  injus- 
tice has  blackened  my  soul.  I  was  born  with  a 
disposition  as  great  as  theirs — perhaps  greater — to 
be  good  and  loving  and  charitable.  My  God ! 
benefits  cost  little  when  you're  rich,  and  kindness 
is  easy  when  you're  happy.  If  I  were  in  their 
place,  and  they  in  mine,  they  would  hate  me  ... 
as  I  hate  them.  .  .  .  We  do  not  love  our  masters. 
Ah  !  this  is  horrible — what  I  am  saying  to  you. 
I  know  it,  and  this  is  the  crowning  bitterness — I 
feel  my  own  degradation,  I  blush  for  it  ...  and 
I  increase  it.  Alas !  now  you  despise  me  more 
than  ever  .  .  .  you,  whom  I  could  have  loved  so 

178 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

much,  if  you  would  have  let  me  ;  you,  who  could 
have  given  me  all  that  I  have  lost — hope,  peace, 
goodness,  self-respect !  Ah  !  there  was  a  moment 
when  I  believed  that  I  was  saved  .  ,  .  when  for 
the  first  time  I  dreamed  of  happiness,  of  hope,  of 
pride !  .  .  .  Poor  wretch !  .  .  ." 

She  had  seized  both  my  hands ;  her  head  fell 
on  them,  and  she  wept  wildly  under  her  long, 
flowing  curls. 

"  My  dear  child,"  I  said  to  her,  "  I  know  bet- 
ter than  any  one  the  trials  and  humiliations  of 
your  position,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  you  increase 
them  greatly  by  nourishing  the  sentiments  you 
have  just  expressed.  They  are  hideous,  and  you 
will  end  by  deserving  all  the  hardships  of  your  lot. 
But,  after  all,  your  imagination  strangely  exag- 
gerates those  hardships.  As  for  the  present,  what- 
ever you  may  say,  you  are  treated  like  a  friend 
here  ;  as  to  the  future,  I  see  nothing  to  prevent 
you  from  leaving  this  house  on  the  arm  of  a 
happy  husband,  too.  For  my  part,  I  shall  be 
grateful  for  your  affection  throughout  my  life ; 
but — I  will  tell  you  once  more,  and  finish  with  the 
subject  forever — I  have  duties  that  bind  me,  and 
I  do  not  wish,  nor  am  I  able,  to  marry." 

She  looked  at  me  suddenly. 

"Not  even  Marguerite?"  she  said. 
179 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  I  do  not  see  that  it  is  necessary  to  introduce 
Mile.  Marguerite's  name." 

With  one  hand  she  threw  back  the  hair  which 
fell  over  her  face,  and  the  other  she  held  out  at 
me  with  a  menacing  gesture. 

"  You  love  her  ! "  she  said  in  a  hoarse  voice. 
"  No,  you  love  her  money,  but  you  shall  not 
have  it ! " 

"  Mademoiselle  He*louin  ! " 

"Ah!"  she  continued,  "you  must  be  a  child 
indeed  if  you  think  you  can  deceive  a  woman  who 
was  fool  enough  to  love  you.  I  see  through  your 
manoeuvres.  Besides,  I  know  who  you  are.  I 
was  not  far  off  when  Mile,  de  Porhoet  conveyed 
your  well-calculated  confidence  to  Mme.  La- 
roque " 

"  So  you  listen  at  doors,  mademoiselle  ! " 

"  I  care  nothing  for  your  insults.  .  .  .  Besides, 
I  shall  avenge  myself,  and  soon,  too.  .  .  .  Oh, 
there's  no  doubt  you're  very  clever,  M.  de  Cham- 
cey !  I  congratulate  you.  Wonderfully  well 
have  you  played  your  little  part  of  disinterested- 
ness and  reserve,  as  your  friend  Laubdpin  advised 
you  to  do  when  he  sent  you  here.  He  knew  the 
person  you  would  have  to  deal  with.  He  knew 
well  enough  this  girl's  absurd  mania.  And  you 
think  you've  already  got  your  prey,  don't  you  ? 

1 80 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Adorable  millions,  aren't  they  ?  There  are  queer 
stories  about  their  origin.  But,  at  any  rate,  they 
will  serve  very  well  to  furbish  up  your  marquisate, 
and  regild  your  escutcheon.  Well,  from  this  mo- 
ment you  can  give  up  that  idea  ...  for  I  swear 
you  shall  not  keep  your  mask  a  day  longer,  and 
this  hand  shall  tear  it  from  you." 

"  Mile.  Helouin,  it  is  quite  time  we  brought 
this  scene  to  an  end ;  we  are  verging  on  melo- 
drama. You  have  given  me  an  opportunity 
of  forestalling  you  in  tale-bearing  and  calumnia- 
tion ;  but  you  are  perfectly  safe.  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honour  that  I  shall  not  use  those 
weapons.  And,  mademoiselle,  I  am  your  humble 
servant." 

I  left  the  unhappy  girl  with  a  feeling  of 
mingled  disgust  and  pity.  I  have  always  thought 
that  the  highest  organization  must,  from  its  very 
nature,  be  galled  and  warped  in  a  situation  as 
equivocal  and  humiliating  as  that  which  Mile, 
Helouin  occupies  here.  But  I  was  not  prepared 
for  the  abyss  of  venom  that  had  just  opened 
under  my  eyes.  Most  assuredly  —  when  one 
thinks  the  matter  out — one  can  scarcely  conceive 
a  situation  which  subjects  a  human  soul  to  more 
hateful  temptations,  or  is  better  calculated  to  de- 
velop and  sharpen  envy,  to  arouse  the  protests 

181 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

of  pride,  and  to  exasperate  feminine  vanity  and 
jealousy.  Most  of  the  unhappy  girls  who  are 
driven  to  this  occupation  only  escape  the  troubles 
Mile.  Helouin  had  not  been  able  to  guard  herself 
against,  either  by  the  moderation  of  their  feeling, 
or,  by  the  grace  of  God,  through  the  firmness 
of  their  principles.  Sometimes  I  had  thought 
that  our  misfortunes  might  make  it  necessary  for 
my  sister  to  go  as  governess  into  some  rich  family. 
I  swore  then  that  whatever  future  might  be  re- 
served for  us,  I  would  rather  share  the  hardest 
life  in  the  poorest  garret  with  He*lene  than  let 
her  sit  at  the  poisoned  banquets  of  an  opulent 
and  hateful  servitude. 

Though  I  had  firmly  resolved  to  leave  the 
field  free  to  Mile.  Helouin,  and  on  no  account  to 
engage  personally  in  the  recriminations  of  a  de- 
grading contest,  I  could  not  regard  without  mis- 
giving the  probable  consequences  of  the  treacher- 
ous war  just  declared  against  me.  Evidently,  I 
was  threatened  where  I  was  most  sensitive — in  my 
love  and  in  my  honour.  Mistress  of  the  secret 
of  my  heart,  mingling  truth  and  falsehood  with 
the  skilful  perfidy  of  her  sex,  Mile.  He'louin 
might  easily  show  my  conduct  in  an  unfavourable 
light,  turn  all  the  precautions  and  scruples  of  my 
delicacy  against  me,  and  give  my  simplest  actions 

182 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  appearance  of  deliberate  intrigue.  I  could 
not  foresee  the  form  her  malevolence  would  take, 
but  I  could  depend  upon  her  to  choose  the  most 
effectual  methods.  Better  than  any  one,  she 
knew  the  weak  places  in  the  imaginations  she 
wished  to  impress.  Over  Mile.  Marguerite  and 
her  mother  she  had  the  advantage  which  dissim- 
ulation usually  has  over  frankness,  and  cunning 
over  simplicity.  They  trusted  her  with  the  trust 
that  is  born  of  long  use  and  daily  association. 
Her  masters,  as  she  called  them,  were  not  likely 
to  suspect  that  under  the  pretty  brightness  and 
obsequious  consideration  which  she  assumed  with 
such  consummate  art  she  concealed  a  frenzy  of 
pride  and  ingratitude  which  was  eating  her  miser- 
able heart  away.  It  was  too  probable  that  a  hand 
so  sure  and  skilful  would  pour  its  poison  with 
complete  success  into  hearts  thus  prepared.  It 
was  true  Mile.  Helouin  might  be  afraid  that  by 
yielding  to  her  resentment  she  would  thrust  Mile. 
Marguerite's  hand  into  that  of  M.  de  Be'vallan, 
and  hasten  a  marriage  which  would  be  the  ruin 
of  her  own  ambition  ;  but  I  knew  that  the  woman 
who  hates  does  not  calculate,  and  risks  everything. 
So  I  awaited  from  her  the  swiftest  and  blindest 
of  vengeance,  and  I  was  right. 

In   painful  anxiety   I   passed   the   hours   that 
183 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

should  have  been  given  to  sweeter  thoughts.  All 
that  a  proud  spirit  finds  most  galling  in  depend- 
ence, the  suspicion  hardest  for  a  loyal  conscience, 
the  scorn  most  bitter  to  a  loving  heart,  I  endured 
in  anticipation.  Never  in  my  worst  hours  had 
adversity  offered  me  a  cup  so  full.  However,  I 
tried  to  work  as  usual.  About  five  o'clock  I  went 
to  the  chateau.  The  ladies  had  returned  during 
the  afternoon.  In  the  drawing-room  I  found  Mile. 
Marguerite,  Mme.  Aubry,  M.  de  Be"vallan,  and 
two  or  three  casual  guests.  Mile.  Marguerite  did 
not  appear  to  be  aware  of  my  presence,  but  con- 
tinued to  talk  to  M.  de  Be*vallan  in  a  more  ani- 
mated style  than  usual.  They  were  discussing  an 
impromptu  dance,  which  was  to  take  place  the 
same  evening  at  a  neighbouring  chateau.  She  was 
going  with  her  mother,  and  urged  M.  de  Be*vallan 
to  accompany  them.  He  excused  himself  on  the 
ground  that  he  had  left  his  house  that  morning 
before  receiving  the  invitation,  and  that  his  cos- 
tume was  inadmissible.  With  an  eager  and  affec- 
tionate coquetry  which  evidently  surprised  even 
him,  Mile.  Marguerite  persisted,  saying  that 
there  was  still  time  to  go  back  and  dress  and 
return  to  fetch  them.  She  promised  that  a  nice 
little  dinner  should  be  kept  for  him.  M.  de  Be*- 
vallan  said  that  his  carriage  horses  were  not  avail- 

184 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

able,  and  that  he  could  not  ride  back  in  evening 
dress. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Mile.  Marguerite  ;  "  they 
shall  drive  you  over  in  the  dog-cart." 

At  the  same  moment  she  turned  towards  me 
for  the  first  time,  with  a  look  in  which  I  saw  the 
thunderbolt  that  was  about  to  fall. 

"  M.  Odiot,"  she  said  in  a  sharp,  imperious 
tone,  "go  and  tell  them  to  put  the  horse  in." 

This  imperious  order  was  so  little  in  harmony 
with  such  as  I  was  accustomed  to  receive  here,  or 
such  as  I  could  be  expected  to  tolerate,  that  the 
attention  and  curiosity  of  the  most  indifferent  were 
excited. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  M.  de  Be*val- 
lan  glanced  in  surprise  at  Mile.  Marguerite ;  then 
he  looked  at  me,  and  got  up  with  a  very  serious 
air.  If  they  thought  I  should  give  way  to  some 
mad  prompting  of  anger  they  were  mistaken.  It 
was  true  that  the  insulting  words  which  had  just 
fallen  on  me  from  a  mouth  so  beautiful,  so  be- 
loved, and  so  cruel,  had  struck  the  icy  coldness  of 
death  to  the  very  depths  of  my  being.  A  blade 
of  steel  piercing  my  heart  could  hardly  have  caused 
me  keener  pain.  But  never  had  I  been  calmer. 
The  bell  which  Mme.  Laroque  uses  to  summon 
her  servants  stood  on  a  table  within  my  reach.  I 

185  io— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

touched  it  with  my  finger.    A  man-servant  entered 
almost  directly. 

"  I  think,"  I  said  to  him,  "  Mile.  Marguerite 
has  some  orders  to  give  you." 

At  this  speech,  which  she  had  heard  in  amaze- 
ment, Marguerite  shook  her  head  quickly,  and  dis- 
missed the  man.  I  longed  to  get  out  of  this 
room,  where  I  seemed  to  be  choking,  but,  in  view 
of  M.  de  Be*vallan's  provoking  manner,  I  could 
not  withdraw. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  murmured,  "  there's 
something  very  strange  about  all  this." 

I  took  no  notice  of  him.  Mile.  Marguerite 
said  something  to  him  under  her  breath. 

"  I  obey,  mademoiselle,"  he  said  in  a  louder 
tone  ;  "  but  you  will  allow  me  to  express  my  sin- 
cere regret  that  I  have  not  the  right  to  interpose 
here." 

I  rose  immediately. 

"  M.  de  Be*vallan,"  I  said,  standing  within  a 
pace  or  two  of  him,  "  that  regret  is  quite  super- 
fluous, for  though  I  have  not  thought  fit  to  obey 
Mile.  Laroque's  orders,  I  am  entirely  at  yours  .  .  . 
and  I  shall  expect  to  receive  them." 

"  Very  good,  very  good,  sir ;  nothing  could  be 
better,"  replied  M.  de  Be'vallan,  waving  his  hand 
airily  to  reassure  the  ladies. 

1 86 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

We  bowed  to  one  another  and  I  went  out.  I 
dined  alone  in  my  tower.  Poor  Alain  waited  on 
me  as  usual.  No  doubt  he  had  heard  of  what 
had  occurred,  for  he  kept  looking  at  me  mourn- 
fully, sighed  often  and  deeply,  and,  contrary  to  his 
custom,  preserved  a  gloomy  silence,  only  breaking 
it  to  reply,  in  answer  to  my  question,  that  the 
ladies  had  decided  not  to  go  to  the  ball. 

After  a  hurried  meal,  I  put  my  papers  in  order 
and  wrote  a  few  words  to  M.  Laub6pin.  In  view 
of  a  possible  contingency  I  recommended  He*lene 
to  his  care.  The  thought  that  I  might  leave  her 
unprotected  and  friendless  nearly  broke  my  heart, 
without  in  the  least  affecting  my  immovable  prin- 
ciples. I  may  deceive  myself,  but  I  have  always 
thought  that  honour  in  our  modern  life  is  para- 
mount in  the  hierarchy  of  duties.  It  takes  the 
place  of  so  many  virtues  which  have  nearly  faded 
from  our  consciences,  of  so  many  dormant  beliefs ; 
it  plays  such  a  tutelary  part  in  the  present  state  of 
society,  that  I  would  never  consent  to  weaken  its 
claims,  or  lessen  its  obligations.  In  its  indefinite 
character,  there  is  something  superior  to  law 
and  morality  :  one  does  not  reason  about  it ;  one 
feels  it.  It  is  a  religion.  If  we  have  no  longer 
the  folly  of  the  Cross,  let  us  keep  the  folly  of 
Honour  !  Moreover,  no  sentiment  has  ever  taken 

187 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

such  deep  root  in  the  human  soul  without  the 
sanction  of  reason.  It  is  better  that  a  girl  or  a 
wife  should  be  alone  in  the  world,  than  that  she 
should  be  protected  by  a  dishonoured  brother  or 
husband. 

Each  moment  I  expected  a  letter  from  M.  de 
Be*vallan.  I  was  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  col- 
lector of  taxes  in  the  town,  a  young  officer  who 
had  been  wounded  in  the  Crimea,  and  ask  him  to 
be  my  second,  when  some  one  knocked  at  my 
door.  M.  de  Be*vallan  himself  came  in.  Apart 
from  a  slight  shade  of  embarrassment,  his  face  ex- 
pressed nothing  but  a  frank  and  joyful  kindliness. 

"  M.  Odiot,"  he  said,  as  I  looked  at  him  in 
surprise,  "  this  is  rather  an  unusual  step,  but, 
thank  Heaven,  my  service-records  place  my  cour- 
age beyond  suspicion.  On  the  other  hand,  I  have 
such  good  reason  for  feeling  happy  to-night  that  I 
have  no  room  for  rancour  or  enmity.  Lastly,  I 
am  obeying  orders  which  will  now  be  more  sacred 
to  me  than  ever.  In  short,  I  come  to  offer  you 
my  hand." 

I  bowed  gravely  and  took  his  hand. 

"  Now,"  he  went  on  as  he  sat  down,  "  I  can 
execute  my  commission  comfortably.  A  little 
while  ago  Mile.  Marguerite,  in  a  thoughtless 
moment,  gave  you  some  instructions  which  most 

188 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

assuredly  did  not  come  within  your  province. 
Very  properly,  your  susceptibility  was  aroused, 
we  quite  recognise  that,  and  now  the  ladies 
charge  me  to  beg  that  you  will  accept  their  re- 
grets. They  would  be  in  despair  if  the  miscon- 
ception of  a  moment  could  deprive  them  of  your 
good  offices,  which  they  value  extremely,  and  put 
an  end  to  relations  which  they  esteem  most  highly. 
Speaking  for  myself,  I  have  this  evening  acquired 
the  right  to  add  my  entreaties  to  those  of  the 
ladies.  Something  I  have  long  desired  has  been 
granted  me,  and  I  shall  be  personally  indebted 
to  you  if  you  will" prevent  the  happy  memories 
of  this  day  from  being  marred  by  a  separation 
which  would  be  at  once  disadvantageous  and 
painful  to  the  family  into  which  I  shall  shortly 
enter." 

"  M.  de  Be*vallan,"  I  said,  "  I  fully  recognise 
and  appreciate  all  that  you  have  said  on  behalf  of 
the  ladies,  as  well  as  on  your  own  account.  You 
will  excuse  me  from  giving  a  final  answer  immedi- 
ately. This  is  a  matter  which  requires  more  judi- 
cial consideration  than  I  can  give  it  at  present." 

"  At  least,"  said  M.  de  Etevallan,  "  you  will  let 
me  take  back  a  hopeful  report.  Come,  M.  Odiot, 
since  we  have  the  opportunity,  let  us  break 
through  the  barrier  of  ice  that  has  kept  us  apart 

189 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

till  now.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  am  quite 
willing.  In  the  first  place,  Mme.  Laroque,  with- 
out revealing  a  secret  that  does  not  belong  to  her, 
has  given  me  to  understand  that  under  the  kind 
of  mystery  with  which  you  surround  yourself, 
there  are  circumstances  which  reflect  the  highest 
credit  on  you.  And,  besides,  I  have  a  private 
reason  for  being  grateful  to  you.  I  know  that 
you  have  lately  been  consulted  in  reference  to 
my  intentions  towards  Mile.  Laroque,  and  that 
I  have  cause  to  congratulate  myself  on  your 
opinion." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  do  not  think  I  deserve " 

"  Oh,  I  know !"  he  continued,  laughing.  "  You 
didn't  praise  me  up  to  the  skies,  but,  at  all  events, 
you  did  me  no  harm.  And  I  admit  that  you 
showed  real  insight.  You  said  that  though  Mile. 
Marguerite  might  not  be  absolutely  happy  with  me, 
she  would  not  be  unhappy.  Well,  the  prophet 
Daniel  could  not  have  spoken  better.  The  truth 
is,  the  dear  child  will  never  be  absolutely  happy 
with  any  one,  because  she  will  not  find  in  the 
whole  world  a  husband  who  will  talk  poetry  to 
her  from  morning  to  night.  .  .  .  They're  not  to 
be  had.  I  am  no  more  capable  of  it  than  any  one 
else,  I  own  ;  but — as  you  were  good  enough  to 
say — I  am  an  honourable  man.  And  really,  when 

190 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

we  know  one  another  better,  you  will  be  con- 
vinced of  it.  I  am  not  a  brute ;  I  am  a  good 
fellow.  God  knows  I  have  faults  .  .  .  one  espe- 
cially :  I  am  fond  of  pretty  women.  ...  I  am, 
I  can't  deny  it.  But  what  does  it  matter?  It 
shows  that  one  has  a  good  heart.  Besides,  here  I 
am  in  port  .  .  .  and  I  am  delighted,  because — 
between  ourselves — I  was  getting  into  a  bit  of  a 
mess.  In  short,  I  mean  only  to  think  about  my 
wife  and  children  in  future.  So,  like  you,  I 
believe  Marguerite  will  be  perfectly  happy — that 
is  to  say,  as  far  as  she  could  be  in  this  world  with 
ideas  like  hers.  For,  after  all,  I  shall  be  good  to 
her;  I  shall  refuse  her  nothing,  and  I  shall  do 
even  more  than  she  desires.  But  if  she  asks  me 
for  the  moon  and  the  stars,  I  can't  go  and  fetch 
them  to  please  her  .  .  .  that's  not  possible.  .  .  . 
And  now,  my  dear  friend,  your  hand  once  more." 

I  gave  it  him.     He  got  up. 

"  Good  !  I  hope  that  you  will  stay  with  us 
now.  .  .  .  Come,  let  me  see  that  a  brighter 
face  !  We  will  make  your  life  as  pleasant  as  pos- 
sible, but  you'll  have  to  help  us  a  bit,  you  know. 
You  cultivate  your  sadness,  I  fancy.  You  live,  if 
I  may  say  so,  too  much  like  an  owl.  You're  a 
kind  of  Spaniard  such  as  one  rarely  sees.  You 
must  drop  that  sort  of  thing.  You  are  young 

191 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

and  good-looking,  you  have  wit  and  talents ; 
make  the  best  of  those  qualities.  Listen.  Why 
not  try  a  flirtation  with  little  He"louin.  ...  It 
would  amuse  you.  She  is  very  charming,  and  she 
would  suit  you.  But,  deuce  take  me  !  I  am 
rather  forgetting  my  promotion  to  high  dignities ! 
.  .  .  And  now,  good-bye,  Maxime,  till  to-morrow, 
isn't  it?" 

"Till  to-morrow,  certainly." 

And  this  honest  gentleman — who  is  the  sort 
of  Spaniard  one  often  sees ! — left  me  to  my  reflec- 
tions. 

October  ist. 

A  strange  thing  has  happened.  Though  the 
results  are  not,  so  far,  very  satisfactory,  they  have 
done  me  good.  The  blow  I  had  received  had  left 
me  numb  with  grief.  This  at  least  makes  me  feel 
that  I  am  alive,  and  for  the  first  time  for  three  long 
weeks  I  have  had  the  courage  to  open  this  book 
and  take  up  my  pen.  Every  satisfaction  having 
been  given  to  me,  I  thought  there  was  no  longer 
any  reason  for  leaving,  at  least  suddenly,  a  posi- 
tion and  advantages  which,  after  all,  I  need,  and 
could  not  easily  replace.  The  mere  prospect 
of  the  personal  sufferings  I  had  to  face,  which, 
moreover,  were  the  result  of  my  own  weakness, 

192 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

could  not  entitle  me  to  shirk  duties  which  in- 
volved other  interests  than  my  own.  And  more ; 
I  did  not  intend  that  Mile.  Marguerite  should  in- 
terpret my  sudden  flight  as  the  result  of  pique  at 
the  loss  of  a  good  match.  I  made  it  a  point  of 
honour  to  show  her  an  unruffled  front  up  to  the 
altar  itself.  As  for  my  heart — that  she  could  not 
see.  So  I  contented  myself  with  informing  M. 
Laube"pin  that  certain  things  incident  to  my  situ- 
ation might  at  any  moment  become  unbearable, 
and  that  I  eagerly  desired  some  less  lucrative  but 
more  independent  occupation. 

The  next  day  I  appeared  at  the  chateau,  where 
M.  de  Be"vallan  received  me  cordially.  I  greeted 
the  ladies  with  all  the  self-possession  I  could  com- 
mand. There  was,  of  course,  no  explanation. 
Mme.  Laroque  seemed  moved  and  thoughtful ; 
Mile.  Marguerite  was  a  little  highly  strung  still, 
but  polite.  As  for  Mile.  He*louin,  she  was  very 
pale,  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  work.  The 
poor  girl  could  not  have  been  very  much  delighted 
with  the  final  result  of  her  diplomacy.  She  en- 
deavoured once  or  twice  to  dart  a  look  of  scorn 
and  menace  at  M.  de  Be*vallan  ;  but  though  this 
stormy  atmosphere  might  have  troubled  a  neo- 
phyte, M.  de  Be*vallan  breathed,  moved,  and  flut- 
tered about  in  it  entirely  at  his  ease.  His  regal 

103 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

self-possession  evidently  irritated  Mile.  Helouin, 
but  it  quelled  her  at  the  same  time.  I  am  sure, 
however,  that  she  would  have  played  him  the 
same  sort  of  trick  she  had  played  me  the  day  be- 
fore, and  with  far  more  excuse,  if  she  had  not  been 
afraid  of  ruining  herself  as  well  as  her  accomplice. 
But  it  was  most  likely  that  if  she  yielded  to  her 
jealous  rage,  and  admitted  her  ingratitude  and  du- 
plicity, she  would  ruin  herself  only,  and  she  was 
quite  clever  enough  to  see  this.  In  fact,  M.  de 
B£vallan  was  not  the  kind  of  man  to  have  run  any 
risks  with  her,  without  having  provided  himself 
with  some  very  effective  weapon  which  he  would 
use  with  pitiless  indifference.  Of  course,  Mile. 
He'louin  might  tell  herself  that  the  night  before 
they  had  believed  her  when  she  made  other  false 
accusations,  but  she  knew  that  the  falsehood 
which  flatters  or  wounds  is  much  more  readily  be- 
lieved than  mere  general  truth.  So  she  suffered 
in  silence,  not,  I  suppose,  without  feeling  keenly 
that  the  sword  of  treachery  sometimes  turns 
against  the  person  who  makes  use  of  it.  During 
this  day  and  those  which  followed  I  had  to  bear  a 
kind  of  torture  I  had  foreseen,  though  without 
realizing  how  painful  it  would  be.  The  marriage 
was  fixed  for  a  month  later.  All  the  preparations 
had  to  be  made  at  once  and  in  great  haste.  Reg- 

194 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

ularly  each  morning  came  one  of  Mme.  Pre* vest's 
bouquets.  Laces,  dresses,  jewels  poured  in  and 
were  exhibited  every  evening  to  interested  and 
envious  ladies.  I  had  to  give  my  opinion  and  my 
advice  on  everything.  Mile.  Marguerite  begged 
for  them  with  almost  cruel  persistence.  I  re- 
sponded as  graciously  as  I  could,  and  then  re- 
turned to  my  tower  and  took  from  a  secret 
drawer  the  tattered  handkerchief  I  had  won  at 
the  risk  of  my  life,  and  I  dried  my  tears  with  it. 
Weakness  again !  But  what  would  you  have? 
I  love  her.  Treachery,  enmity,  hopeless  misun- 
derstandings, her  pride  and  mine,  separate  us  for- 
ever !  So  let  it  be,  but  nothing  can  prevent  me 
from  living  and  dying  with  my  heart  full  of  her. 

As  for  M.  de  Be*vallan,  I  did  not  hate  him ;  he 
was  not  worthy  of  it.  He  is  a  vulgar  but  harmless 
soul.  Thank  God  !  I  could  receive  the  overtures 
of  his  shallow  friendliness  without  hypocrisy,  and 
put  my  hand  tranquilly  in  his.  But  if  he  was  too 
insignificant  for  my  resentment,  that  did  not  lessen 
the  deep  and  lacerating  agony  with  which  I  recog- 
nised his  unworthiness  of  the  rare  creature  he 
would  soon  possess — and  never  know.  I  cannot, 
and  I  dare  not,  describe  the  flood  of  bitter 
thoughts,  of  nameless  sensations  which  have  been 
aroused  in  me  at  the  thought  of  this  odious 

195 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

sallmnce,  and  have  not  yet  subsided.  Love,  real 
true  love,  has  something  sacred  in  it,  which  gives 
an  almost  superhuman  character  to  its  pain  as  to 
its  joy. 

To  the  man  who  loves  her,  a  woman  has  a  sort 
of  divinity  of  which  no  other  man  knows  the 
secret,  which  belongs  only  to  her  lover,  and  to  see 
even  the  threshold  of  this  mystery  profaned  by 
another  gives  us  a  strange  and  indescribable  shock 
— a  horror,  as  of  sacrilege.  It  is  not  merely  that 
a  precious  possession  is  taken  from  you  ;  it  is  an 
altar  polluted,  a  mystery  violated,  a  god  defiled ! 
This  is  jealousv.  At  least,  it  is  mine.  In  all  sin- 
cerity it  seemed  to  me  that  in  the  whole  world  I 
only  had  eyes  to  see,  intelligence  to  understand, 
and  a  heart  to  worship  in  its  full  perfection  the 
beauty  of  this  angel.  With  any  other  she  would 
be  cast  away,  and  lost ;  body  and  soul,  she  was  des- 
tined for  me  from  all  eternity.  So  vast  was  my 
pride  !  I  expiated  it  with  suffering  as  immeasur- 
able. 

Nevertheless,  some  mocking  demon  whispered 
that  in  all  probability  Marguerite  would  find  more 
peace  and  real  happiness  in  the  kindly  friendship 
of  a  judicious  husband,  than  she  would  have  en- 
joyed in  the  poetic  passion  of  a  romantic  lover. 
Is  it  true  ?  Is  it  possible  ?  I  do  not  believe  it. 

196 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

She  will  have  peace !  Granted.  But  peace,  after 
all,  is  not  the  best  thing  in  life,  nor  the  highest 
kind  of  happiness.  If  insensibility  and  a  petrified 
heart  sufficed  to  make  us  happy,  too  many  people 
who  do  not  deserve  it  would  be  happy.  By  dint 
of  reasoning  and  calculation  we  come  to  blaspheme 
against  God,  and  to  degrade  his  work.  God 
gives  peace  to  the  dead ;  to  the  living  he  gives 
passion  !  Yes,  in  addition  to  the  vulgar  interests 
of  daily  life,  which  I  am  not  so  foolish  as  to  ex- 
pect to  set  aside,  a  certain  poetry  is  permitted, 
nay,  enjoined.  That  is  the  heritage  of  the  im- 
mortal soul.  And  this  soul  must  feel,  and  some- 
times reveal  itself,  whether  by  visions  that  tran- 
scend the  real,  by  aspirations  that  out-soar  the 
possible,  by  storms,  or  by  tears.  Yes,  there  is  suf- 
fering which  is  better  than  happiness,  or,  rather, 
which  is  itself  happiness — that  of  a  living  creat- 
ure who  knows  all  the  agonies  of  the  heart,  and 
all  the  illusions  of  the  mind,  and  who  accepts 
these  noble  torments  with  an  equable  mind  and 
a  fraternal  heart.  That  is  the  romance  which 
every  one  who  claims  to  be  a  man,  and  to  justify 
that  claim,  may,  and  indeed  is  bound  to  put  into 
his  life. 

And,  after  all,  this  boasted  peace  will  not  be 
hers.     The  marriage  of  two  stolid  hearts,  of  two 

19; 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

frozen  imaginations,  may  produce  the  calm  of 
lifelessness.  I  can  believe  that,  but  the  union  of 
life  with  death  cannot  be  endured  without  a  hor- 
rible oppression  and  ceaseless  anguish. 

In  the  midst  of  these  personal  miseries,  which 
increased  each  day  in  intensity,  my  only  refuge 
was  my  poor  old  friend,  Mile,  de  Porhofit  She 
did  not  know,  or  pretended  not  to  know,  the 
state  of  my  heart ;  but  with  her  remote  and  per- 
haps involuntary  allusions  she  touched  my  bleed- 
ing wounds  with  a  woman's  light  and  delicate 
hand.  And  this  soul  the  living  symbol  of  sacri- 
fice and  resignation,  which  seemed  already  to  float 
above  our  earth,  had  a  detachment,  a  calmness, 
and  a  gentle  firmness,  which  seemed  to  descend 
on  me.  I  came  to  understand  her  innocent  delu- 
sion, and  to  share  it  with  something  of  the  same 
simplicity.  Bent  over  the  album,  I  wandered  with 
her  for  hours  through  the  cloisters  of  her  cathe- 
dral, and  breathed  for  a  while  the  vague  perfumes 
of  an  ideal  serenity. 

I  further  found  at  the  old  lady's  house  another 
kind  of  distraction.  Habit  gives  an  interest  to 
every  kind  of  work.  To  prevent  Mile,  de  Porhoe*t 
from  suspecting  the  final  loss  of  her  case,  I  regu- 
larly continued  the  exploration  of  the  family 
archives.  Among  the  confused  mass  I  occasion- 

198 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

ally  came  across  traditions,  legends,  and  traces  of 
old-world  customs  which  awakened  my  curiosity 
and  carried  back  my  thoughts  to  far-off  days 
remote  from  the  crushing  reality  of  life.  My 
perseverance  maintained  Mile,  de  Porhoet  in  her 
illusions,  and  she  was  grateful  to  me  beyond  my 
deserts.  For  I  had  come  to  take  an  interest  in 
this  work — now  practically  useless — which  repaid 
me  for  all  my  trouble,  and  gave  me  a  wholesome 
distraction  from  my  grief. 

As  the  fateful  day  approached,  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite lost  the  feverish  vivacity  which  had 
seemed  to  inspire  her  since  the  date  of  the  mar- 
riage had  been  fixed,  and  relapsed  at  times  into 
the  fits  of  indolence  and  sombre  reverie  formerly 
habitual  to  her.  Once  or  twice  I  surprised  her 
watching  me  in  wondering  perplexity.  Mme. 
Laroque,  too,  often  looked  at  me  with  an  anx- 
ious and  hesitating  air,  as  if  she  wished  and  yet 
feared  to  discuss  some  painful  subject  with  me. 
The  day  before  yesterday  I  found  myself  by 
chance  alone  with  her  in  the  salon,  which  Mile. 
Helouin  had  just  left  to  give  some  order.  The 
trivial  conversation  in  which  we  had  been  en- 
gaged ceased  suddenly,  as  by  common  consent. 
After  a  short  silence,  Mme.  Laroque  said,  in  a 
voice  full  of  emotion  : 

199 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  M.  Odiot,  you  are  not  wise  in  your  choice 
of  confidants." 

"  Confidants,  madame  ?  I  do  not  follow  you. 
Except  Mile,  de  Porhoe't,  I  have  had  no  confidant 
in  this  place." 

"  Alas ! "  she  replied,  "  I  wish  to  believe 
you  .  .  .  I  do  believe  you  .  .  .  but  that  is  not 
enough " 

At  this  moment  Mile.  He*louin  came  in,  and 
no  more  could  be  said. 

The  day  after — yesterday — I  had  ridden  over 
in  the  morning  to  superintend  some  wood-cutting 
in  the  neighbourhood.  I  was  returning  to  the 
chateau  about  four  in  the  afternoon,  when,  at  a 
sharp  turn  of  the  road,  I  found  myself  face  to 
face  with  Mile.  Marguerite.  She  was  alone.  I 
prepared  to  pass  her  with  a  bow,  but  she  stopped 
her  horse. 

"  What  a  fine  autumn  day ! "  she  said. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle.  You  are  going  for  a 
ride?" 

"As  you  see.  I  am  making  the  best  of  my 
last  moments  of  independence,  and,  in  fact,  I 
have  been  rather  abusing  my  liberty,  for  I  am 
somewhat  tired  of  solitude.  But  Alain  is  wanted 
at  the  house.  .  .  .  Poor  Mervyn  is  lame.  .  .  . 
You  weuld  not  care  to  take  his  place  ? " 

200 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  With  pleasure.     Where  are  you  going  ? " 

"  Well  .  .  I  thought  of  riding  as  far  as  the 
tower  of  Elven." 

With  her  whip  she  indicated  the  misty  sum- 
mit of  a  hill  which  rose  on  the  right  of  the  road. 

"  I  think,"  she  went  on,  "  you've  never  made 
that  pilgrimage  ?  " 

"  I  have  not.  I  have  often  meant  to,  but 
until  now  I  have  always  put  it  off.  I  don't 
know  why." 

"  Well,  that  is  fortunate ;  but  it  is  getting 
late  ;  we  must  make  haste,  if  you  don't  mind." 

I  turned  my  horse  and  we  set  off  at  a  gallop. 

As  we  rode  along,  I  tried  to  account  for  this 
unexpected  fancy  which  had  an  air  of  premedita- 
tion. I  imagined  that  time  and  reflection  had 
weakened  the  first  impression  that  calumnies  had 
made  on  Mile.  Marguerite.  Apparently,  she  had 
conceived  some  doubts  of  Mile.  HeUouin's  ve- 
racity, and  had  seized  an  opportunity  to  make,  in 
an  indirect  way,  a  reparation  which  might  be  due 
to  me.  My  mind  full  of  such  preoccupations,  I 
gave  little  thought  to  the  particular  object  of  this 
strange  ride.  Still,  I  had  often  heard  the  tower 
of  Elven  described  as  one  of  the  most  interesting 
ruins  of  the  country.  I  had  never  gone  along 
either  of  the  roads — from  Rennes  or  from  Jos- 

20 1 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

selin — which  lead  to  the  sea,  without  looking 
longingly  at  the  confused  mass  rearing  up  sud- 
denly among  the  distant  heaths  like  some  huge 
stone  on  end.  But  I  had  had  neither  time  nor 
opportunity  to  examine  it. 

Slackening  our  pace,  we  passed  through  the 
village  of  Elven,  which  preserves  to  a  remarkable 
extent  the  character  of  a  mediaeval  hamlet.  The 
form  of  the  low,  dark  houses  has  not  changed  for 
five  or  six  centuries.  You  think  you  are  dream- 
ing, when,  looking  into  the  big  arched  bays  which 
serve  as  windows,  you  see  the  groups  of  mild-eyed 
women  in  sculpturesque  costume  plying  their  dis- 
taffs in  the  shade,  and  talking  in  low  tones  an  un- 
known tongue.  These  gray  spectral  figures  seem 
to  have  just  left  their  tombs  to  repeat  some 
scene  of  a  bygone  age,  of  which  you  are  the 
only  witness.  It  gives  a  sense  of  oppression. 
The  sluggish  life  that  stirs  around  you  in  the 
single  street  of  the  village  has  the  same  stamp 
of  archaic  strangeness  transmitted  from  a  van- 
ished world. 

A  little  way  from  Elven  we  took  a  cross-road 
that  brought  us  to  the  top  of  a  bare  hillock. 
Thence,  though  still  some  distance  off,  we  could 
plainly  see  the  feudal  colossus  crowning  a  wooded 
height  in  front  of  us.  The  lande  we  were  on 

202 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

sloped  steeply  to  some  marshy  meadows  inclosed 
by  thickets. 

We  descended  the  farther  side  and  soon  en- 
tered the  woods.  Then  we  struck  a  narrow  cause- 
way, the  rugged  pavement  of  which  must  once 
have  rung  to  the  hoofs  of  mail-clad  horses.  For 
some  time  I  had  lost  sight  of  the  tower  of  Elven, 
and  could  not  even  guess  where  it  was,  when  all 
at  once  it  stood  out  like  an  apparition  from  among 
the  foliage  a  few  paces  in  front  of  us.  The  tower 
is  not  a  ruin  ;  it  preserves  its  original  height  of 
more  than  a  hundred  feet,  and  the  irregular 
courses  of  granite  which  make  up  its  splendid  oc- 
tagonal mass  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  huge 
block  cut  out  but  yesterday  by  some  skilful  chisel. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more 
proud,  sombre,  and  imposing  than  this  old  donjon, 
impassible  to  the  course  of  ages,  and  lost  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest.  Full-grown  trees  have 
sprung  up  in  the  deep  moats  which  surround  it, 
and  their  tops  scarcely  touch  the  openings  of  the 
lowest  windows.  This  gigantic  vegetation,  which 
entirely  conceals  the  base  of  the  edifice,  completes 
its  air  of  fantastic  mystery.  In  this  solitude, 
among  these  forests,  before  this  mass  of  weird  ar- 
chitecture, which  seems  to  start  up  suddenly  out 
of  the  earth,  one  thinks  involuntarily  of  those 

203 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

enchanted  castles  in  which   beautiful    princesses 
slept  for  centuries  awaiting  a  deliverer. 

"  So  far,"  said  Mile.  Marguerite,  to  whom  I 
had  endeavoured  to  convey  these  impressions, 
"  this  is  all  I  have  seen  of  it,  but  if  you  want  to 
wake  the  princess,  we  can  go  in.  I  believe  there  is 
always  somewhere  near  a  shepherd  or  shepherdess 
who  has  the  key.  Let  us  tie  up  the  horses  and 
search,  you  for  the  shepherd,  and  I  for  the  shep- 
herdess." 

We  put  the  horses  into  a  small  inclosure  near 
and  separated  for  a  little  while,  but  found  neither 
shepherd  nor  shepherdess.  Of  course  this  in- 
creased our  desire  to  visit  the  tower.  Crossing 
a  bridge  over  the  moat,  we  found  to  our  great  sur- 
prise that  the  heavy  door  was  not  closed.  We 
pushed  it  and  entered  a  dark  and  narrow  space 
choked  with  rubbish,  which  may  have  been  the 
guard-room.  We  passed  thence  into  a  large,  al- 
most circular  hall,  where  an  escutcheon  in  the 
chimneypiece  still  displayed  the  bezants  of  a 
crusader.  A  large  window  faced  us,  divided  by 
the  symbolic  cross  clearly  carved  in  stone.  It 
lighted  all  the  lower  part  of  the  room,  leaving  the 
vaulted  and  ruined  ceiling  in  shadow.  At  the 
sound  of  our  steps  a  flock  of  birds  whirled  off, 
sending  the  dust  of  ages  on  to  our  heads. 

204 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

By  standing  on  the  granite  benches,  which  ran 
like  steps  along  the  side  of  the  walls,  in  the  em- 
brasure of  the  window,  we  could  see  the  moat 
outside  and  the  ruined  parts  of  the  fortress.  But 
as  we  came  in  we  had  noticed  a  staircase  cut  out 
of  the  solid  wall,  and  we  were  childishly  eager 
to  extend  our  discoveries.  We  began  the  ascent, 
I  leading,  and  Mile.  Marguerite  following  bravely, 
and  managing  her  long  skirts  as  best  she  could. 
The  view  from  the  platform  at  the  top  is  vast 
and  exquisite.  The  soft  hues  of  twilight  tinged 
the  ocean  of  half-golden  autumnal  foliage,  the 
gloomy  marshes,  the  fresh  pastures,  and  the  dis- 
tant horizons  of  intersecting  slopes,  which  mingled 
and  succeeded  each  other  in  endless  perspective. 
Gazing  on  this  gracious  landscape,  in  its  infinite 
melancholy,  the  peace  of  solitude,  the  silence  of 
evening,  the  poetry  of  ancient  days  fell  like  some 
potent  spell  upon  our  hearts  and  spirits.  This 
hour  of  common  contemplation  and  emotions  of 
purest,  deepest  pleasure,  no  doubt  the  last  I  should 
spend  with  her,  I  entered  into  with  an  almost 
painful  violence  of  enjoyment.  I  do  not  know 
what  Marguerite  was  feeling ;  she  had  sat  down 
on  the  ledge  of  the  parapet,  and  was  gazing  into 
the  distance  in  silence. 

I  cannot  say  how  many  moments  passed  in 
205 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

this  way.  When  the  mists  gathered  in  the  lower 
meadows,  and  the  distant  landscape  began  to  fade 
into  the  growing  darkness,  Marguerite  rose. 

"  Come,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  the 
curtain  had  fallen  on  some  beautiful  spectacle; 
"  come  ;  it's  over." 

She  began  to  descend  the  stairs,  and  I  fol- 
lowed her. 

But  when  we  tried  to  get  out  of  the  donjon,  to 
our  great  surprise  we  found  the  door  closed.  Most 
likely  the  doorkeeper,  not  knowing  that  we  were 
there,  had  locked  it  while  we  were  on  the  plat- 
form. At  first  this  amused  us.  The  tower  was 
really  an  enchanted  tower.  I  made  some  vigor- 
ous efforts  to  break  the  spell,  but  the  huge  bolt 
of  the  old  lock  was  firmly  fixed  in  its  granite 
socket,  and  I  had  to  give  up  all  hope  of  moving 
it.  I  attacked  the  door  itself,  but  the  massive 
hinges  and  the  oak  panels  studded  with  iron 
stolidly  resisted  all  my  efforts.  Some  stone  mul- 
lions,  which  I  found  among  the  rubbish  and 
hurled  against  the  door,  only  shook  the  vault 
and  brought  some  fragments  from  it  to  our  feet 
Mile.  Marguerite  at  last  made  me  give  up  a  task 
that  was  hopeless,  and  not  without  danger.  I  then 
ran  to  the  window  and  shouted,  but  no  one  re- 
plied. For  ten  minutes  I  continued  shouting,  and 

206 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

to  no  purpose.  We  took  advantage  of  the  last 
rays  of  light  to  explore  the  interior  of  the  don- 
jon very  carefully.  But  the  door,  which  was  as 
good  as  walled  up  for  us,  and  the  large  window, 
thirty  feet  above  the  moat,  were  the  only  exits 
we  could  discover. 

Meanwhile,  night  had  fallen  on  the  fields,  and 
the  shadows  deepened  in  the  old  tower.  The 
moonbeams  shone  in  through  the  window,  streak- 
ing the  steps  with  oblique  white  lines.  Mile.  Mar- 
guerite's gaiety  had  gradually  died  away,  and  she 
had  even  ceased  to  answer  the  more  or  less  prob- 
able conjectures  with  which  I  still  tried  to  calm 
her  apprehensions.  While  she  kept  silent  and 
immovable  in  the  shadow,  I  sat  in  the  full  light 
on  the  step  nearest  the  window,  still  shouting  at 
intervals  for  help ;  but,  to  speak  the  truth,  the 
more  uncertain  the  success  of  my  attempts  be- 
came, the  more  I  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of 
irresistible  joyfulness.  For  suddenly  I  saw  the 
eternal  and  impossible  dream  of  lovers  realized 
for  me ;  I  was  shut  in  the  heart  of  a  desert  and 
in  the  most  complete  solitude  with  the  woman  I 
loved.  For  long  hours  there  would  be  but  she 
and  I  in  the  world,  but  her  life  and  mine.  I 
thought  of  all  the  sweet  evidences  of  protection 
and  of  tender  respect  it  would  be  my  right  and 

207 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

my  duty  to  show  her.  I  imagined  her  fears  at 
rest,  her  confidence  restored,  finally  her  slumbers 
guarded  by  me.  I  told  myself,  in  rapture,  that 
this  auspicious  night,  though  it  could  not  give 
me  her  love,  would  at  least  insure  me  her  unalter- 
able respect. 

As  I  yielded,  with  the  egotism  of  passion,  to 
my  secret  ecstasy,  some  trace  of  which,  perhaps, 
expressed  itself  in  my  face,  I  was  suddenly  awak- 
ened by  these  words,  spoken  in  a  dull  tone,  and 
with  affected  calm  : 

"  M.  le  Marquis  de  Champcey,  have  there  been 
many  cowards  in  your  family  before  you  ? " 

I  rose,  and  immediately  fell  back  again  on  the 
stone  bench,  looking  stupidly  into  the  darkness, 
where  I  saw  dimly  the  ghostly  figure  of  the 
young  'jirl.  Only  one  idea  occurred  to  me — a 
terrible  *dea — that  grief  and  fear  had  affected  her 
reason — that  she  was  going  mad. 

"  Marguerite  ! "  I  cried,  without  knowing  that 
I  spoke. 

The  word  no  doubt  put  a  climax  to  her  irri- 
tation. 

"  My  God,  this  is  hateful  ! "  she  continued. 
"It  is  cowardly.  I  repeat,  it  is  cowardly." 

I  began  to  see  the  truth.  I  descended  one  of 
the  steps. 

208 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  said  coldly. 

She  replied  with  abrupt  vehemence :  "  You 
paid  that  man  or  child,  whichever  it  was,  to  shut  us 
up  in  this  wretched  tower.  To-morrow  I  shall  be 
ruined  .  .  .  my  reputation  lost  .  .  .  then  I  shall 
have  perforce  to  belong  to  you.  That  was  your 
calculation,  wasn't  it  ?  But,  I  warn  you,  it  will 
not  serve  you  any  better  than  the  rest.  You  still 
know  me  very  little  if  you  think  I  would  not 
prefer  dishonour,  the  convent,  death,  anything,  to 
the  vileness  of  yielding  my  hand — my  life — to 
yours.  And  suppose  this  infamous  trick  had 
succeeded,  suppose  I  had  been  weak  enough—- 
which of  a  surety  I  never  shall  be — to  yield  my- 
self, and  what  you  covet  more,  my  fortune  to 
you,  what  kind  of  a  man  can  you  be  ?  What 
mud  are  you  made  of,  to  desire  wealth  and  a 
wife  by  such  means  ?  Ah  !  you  may  thank  me 
for  not  yielding  to  your  wishes.  They  are  im- 
prudent, believe  me ;  for  if  ever  shame  and  pub- 
lic ridicule  drove  me  to  your  arms,  I  have  such 
a  contempt  for  you  that  I  would  break  your 
heart.  Yes,  were  it  as  hard  and  cold  as  these 
Stones,  I  would  press  blood  and  tears  from  it ! " 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  with  all  the  calm  I 
could  command,  "  I  beg  you  to  return  to  your- 
self, to  your  senses.  On  my  honour  I  assure  you 

209  ii— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

that  you  do  me  injustice.  Think  for  a  moment. 
Your  suspicions  are  quite  absurd.  In  no  possible 
way  could  I  have  accomplished  the  treachery  of 
which  you  accuse  me ;  and  even  if  I  could  have 
done  so,  when  have  I  ever  given  you  the  right  to 
think  me  capable  of  it  ?  " 

"  Everything  I  know  of  you  gives  me  this 
right ! "  she  cried,  lashing  the  air  with  her  whip. 
"  I  will  tell  you  once  for  all  what  has  been  in  my 
thoughts  for  a  long  time.  Why  did  you  come 
into  our  house  under  a  false  name,  in  a  false 
character?  My  mother  and  I  were  happy  and 
at  peace.  You  have  brought  trouble,  anxiety, 
and  sorrow  upon  us.  To  attain  your  object,  to 
restore  your  fallen  fortunes,  you  usurped  our  con- 
fidence .  .  .  you  destroyed  our  peace  .  .  .  you 
have  played  with  our  purest,  deepest,  and  holiest 
feelings  .  .  .  you  have  bruised  and  shattered  our 
hearts  without  pity.  That  is  what  you  have  done 
or  tried  to  do,  it  doesn't  matter  which.  Well,  I 
am  utterly  weary  of,  utterly  disgusted  with,  all 
this.  I  tell  you  plainly.  And  when  now  you 
offer  to  pledge  your  honour  as  a  gentleman,  the 
honour  that  has  already  allowed  you  to  do  so 
many  unworthy  things,  certainly  I  have  the  right 
not  to  believe  in  it — I  do  not  believe  in  it." 

I  lost  all  control  of  myself.  I  seized  her 
210 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

hands  in  a  transport  of  violence  which  daunted 
her.  "  Marguerite,  my  poor  child,  listen.  I  love 
you,  it  is  true,  and  a  love  more  passionate,  more 
disinterested,  more  holy,  never  possessed  the  heart 
of  man.  But  you — you  love  me  too  !  Unhappy 
girl,  you  love  me  and  you  are  killing  me.  You 
talk  of  a  bruised  and  a  broken  heart.  What  have 
you  done  to  mine  ?  But  it  is  yours.  I  give  it  up 
to  you.  As  for  my  honour,  I  keep  it  .  .  .  it  is 
intact,  and  before  long  I  shall  compel  you  to  ac- 
knowledge this.  And  on  that  honour  I  swear 
that  if  I  die,  you  will  weep  for  me ;  that  if  I 
live — worshipped  though  you  are — never,  never, 
were  you  on  your  knees  before  me,  would  I 
marry  you  unless  you  were  as  poor  as  I,  or  I  as 
rich  as  you.  And  now  pray !  pray !  Ask  God 
for  a  miracle ;  it  is  time  ! " 

Then  I  pushed  her  roughly  far  from  the  em- 
brasure, and  sprang  on  to  the  highest  step.  A 
desperate  idea  had  come  to  me.  I  carried  it 
out  with  the  precipitation  of  positive  madness. 
As  I  have  said,  the  tops  of  the  beeches  and 
oaks  that  grew  in  the  moat  were  on  the  level 
of  the  window.  With  my  bent  whip  I  drew  the 
ends  of  the  nearest  branches  to  me,  seized  them 
at  random,  and  let  myself  drop  into  the  void.  I 
heard  my  name — "  Maxime ! " — uttered  with  a  wild 

211 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

cry  above  my  head.  The  branches  I  held  bent 
their  full  length  towards  the  abyss  ;  there  was 
an  ominous  crack,  and  they  broke  under  my 
weight.  I  fell  heavily  on  the  ground.  The 
muddy  nature  of  the  soil  must  have  deadened 
the  shock,  for  I  felt  that  I  was  alive,  though  a 
good  deal  hurt.  One  of  my  arms  had  struck  the 
stonework  of  the  moat,  and  I  was  in  such  pain 
that  I  fainted.  Marguerite's  despairing  voice  re» 
called  me  to  myself. 

"  Maxime  !  Maxime  ! "  she  cried,  "  for  pity's 
sake,  for  God's  sake,  speak  to  me  !  Forgive  me  ! " 

I  got  up  and  saw  her  in  the  bay  of  the  win- 
dow, standing  in  an  aureole  of  pale  light,  her  head 
bare,  her  hair  loose,  her  hands  grasping  the  bar  of 
the  cross,  while  her  glowing  eyes  searched  the 
dark  abyss. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  I  said  ;  "  I'm  not  hurt. 
Only  be  patient  for  an  hour  or  two.  Give  me 
time  to  get  to  the  chateau — that  is  the  best  place 
to  go.  You  may  be  sure  I  shall  keep  your  secret 
and  save  your  honour,  as  I  have  just  saved  my 
own." 

I  scrambled  painfully  out  of  the  moat  and 
went  to  look  for  my  horse.  I  used  my  handker- 
chief as  a  sling  for  my  left  arm,  which  was  quite 
disabled  and  gave  me  great  pain.  The  night  was 

212 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

clear  and  I  found  the  way  easily.  An  hour  later 
I  was  at  the  chateau.  They  told  me  that  Dr. 
Desmarets  was  in  the  drawing-room.  I  hurried 
there  and  found  him  and  a  dozen  others,  all  look- 
ing anxious  and  alarmed. 

"  Doctor,"  I  said  lightly  as  I  came  in,  "  my 
horse  shied  at  his  own  shadow  and  came  down  in 
the  road.  I  think  my  left  arm  is  put  out.  Will 
you  see  ?  " 

"Eh,  what? — put  out?"  said  M.  Desmarets, 
after  he  had  removed  the  handkerchief.  "  Your 
arm's  broken,  my  poor  boy." 

Mme.  Laroque  started  up  with  a  little  scream 
and  came  towards  me. 

"  It  seems  we  are  to  have  an  evening  of  mis- 
fortunes," she  said. 

"  What  else  has  happened  ?  "  I  asked,  as  if  sur- 
prised. 

"I  am  afraid  my  daughter  must  have  had  an 
accident.  She  went  out  on  horseback  about 
three  ;  it  is  now  eight,  and  she  has  not  returned ! " 

"  Mile.   Marguerite  ?    Why,  I  met  her  ...  " 

"Met  her  ?  When  ?  Where  ?  Forgive  a 
mother's  selfishness,  M.  Odiot." 

"  Oh,  I  met  her  on  the  road,  about  five.  She 
told  me  she  thought  of  going  as  far  as  the  tower 
of  Elven." 

213 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  The  tower  of  Elven  !  She  has  lost  her  way 
in  the  woods.  We  must  send  at  once  and  search." 

M.  de  Be"vallan  ordered  horses  to  be  got  ready 
immediately.  At  first  I  pretended  that  I  meant 
to  be  of  the  party,  but  Mme.  Laroque  and  the 
doctor  would  not  hear  of  it.  Without  much 
trouble  I  was  persuaded  to  take  to  my  bed,  which, 
truth  to  tell,  I  needed  badly.  M.  Desmarets  at- 
tended to  my  arm,  and  then  drove  away  with 
Mme.  Laroque,  who  was  to  await  the  result  of 
the  search  inaugurated  by  M.  de  Be"vallan  at  the 
village  of  Elven. 

About  ten  o'clock  Alain  came  to  tell  me  that 
Mile.  Marguerite  had  been  found.  He  related 
the  story  of  her  imprisonment  without  omitting 
any  details,  except,  of  course,  those  known  only 
to  me  and  the  young  girl.  The  news  was  soon 
confirmed  by  the  doctor,  and  afterwards  by  Mme. 
Laroque,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that 
no  one  suspected  what  had  actually  occurred. 

I  passed  the  night  in  repeating  the  dangerous 
leap  from  the  window  of  the  donjon  with  all  the 
grotesque  complications  of  fever  and  delirium.  I 
did  not  get  used  to  it.  Every  moment  the  sensa- 
tion of  falling  through  emptiness  caught  me  by 
the  throat,  and  I  awoke  breathless.  At  last  day 
came,  and  I  got  calm.  At  eight  o'clock  Mile,  de 

214 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

Porhoet  came  in  and  took  her  place  at  my  bedside 
with  her  knitting  in  her  hand.  She  did  the  hon- 
ours of  my  room  to  the  visitors  who  followed  one 
another  throughout  the  day.  Mme.  Laroque  was 
the  first  after  my  old  friend.  As  she  held  my 
hand  and  pressed  it  earnestly  I  saw  tears  on  her 
face.  Has  her  daughter  confided  in  her  ? 

Mile,  de  Porhoet  told  me  that  old  M.  La- 
roque had  been  confined  to  his  bed  since  yester- 
day. He  had  a  slight  attack  of  paralysis.  To- 
day he  cannot  speak,  and  they  are  much  alarmed 
about  him.  The  marriage  is  to  be  hastened. 
M.  Laube*pin  has  been  sent  for  from  Paris;  he 
is  expected  to-morrow,  and  the  contract  will  be 
signed  the  following  day,  under  his  direction. 

I  have  been  able  to  sit  up  for  some  hours  this 
evening,  but,  according  to  M.  Desmarets,  I  should 
not  have  written  while  the  fever  was  on  me,  and 
I  am  a  great  idiot. 

October  jd. 

Really  it  seems  as  if  some  malign  power  were 
hard  at  work  devising  the  strangest  and  most 
cruel  tests  for  my  conscience  and  heart  alter- 
nately. 

M.  Laubepin  not  having  arrived  this  morning, 
Mme.  Laroque  has  asked  me  to  give  her  some 

215 


of  the  information  necessary  for  drawing  up  the 
general  conditions  of  the  contract,  which  is  to  be 
signed  to-morrow.  As  I  am  obliged  to  keep  my 
room  for  some  days  yet,  I  asked  Mme.  Laroque 
to  send  me  the  title-deeds  and  private  documents 
in  her  father-in-law's  possession,  as  they  were  in- 
dispensable for  the  clearing  up  of  the  points  she 
had  mentioned  to  me. 

Very  soon  they  brought  me  two  or  three 
drawers  full  of  papers  which  they  had  taken  out  of 
M.  Laroque's  cabinet  while  he  was  asleep,  for  the 
old  gentleman  would  never  let  any  one  touch  his 
secret  archives.  On  the  first  paper  that  I  took 
up  I  saw  my  family  name  repeated  several  times. 
My  curiosity  was  irresistibly  aroused.  Here  is 
the  literal  text  of  the  document : 

To  MY  CHILDREN 

The  name  I  bequeath  to  you,  and  which  I 
have  honoured,  is  not  mine.  My  father's  name 
was  Savage.  He  was  overseer  of  a  large  planta- 
tion in  the  Island  of  St.  Lucia  (then  French), 
which  belonged  to  a  rich  and  noble  family  of 
Dauphine* — the  Champcey  d'Hauterives.  In  1793 
my  father  died,  and,  though  I  was  quite  young,  I 
succeeded  to  the  trust  the  Champceys  reposed  in 
him.  Towards  the  end  of  that  disastrous  year 

216 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  French  Antilles  were  taken  by  the  English  or 
given  up  to  them  by  the  rebel  colonists.     The 
Marquis  of  Champcey  d'Hauterive  (Jacques- Au- 
guste),  whom  the  orders  of  the  Convention  had 
not  yet  struck  down,  then  commanded  the  Thetis 
frigate,  which  had  been  cruising  on  this  coast  for 
three  years.     A  good  number  of  the  French  colo- 
nists of  the  Antilles  had   succeeded  in  realizing 
their  fortunes,  which  had  been  in  imminent  peril. 
They   had    arranged   with   the    Commandant    de 
Champcey  to  get  together  a  fleet  of  light  trans- 
ports, to  which   their   property  had    been   trans- 
ferred, and  which  was  to  sail  for  France  under  the 
protection  of  the  guns  of  the  Thetis.     In  view  of 
imminent  disasters,  I   had  myself  received,  a  long 
time  back,  an  order  and  authority  to  sell  the  planta- 
tion at  any  price.     On  the  night  of  November  14, 
1 793,  I  put  out  alone  in  a  boat  for  the  Point  of 
Morne-au-Sable  and  secretly  left  St.  Lucia,  already 
occupied  by  the  enemy.     I  brought  with  me  in 
English   notes   and   guineas   the    amount    I    had 
received  for  the  plantation.      M.  de  Champcey, 
thanks  to  his  intimate  knowledge   of   the  coast, 
had    slipped    past    the    English    cruiser    and    had 
taken    refuge    in    the    dangerous    and    unknown 
channel  of  Gros-Ilet.     He  had  instructed  me  to 
join  him  there  this  night,  and  only  awaited  my 

217 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

arrival  to  leave  the  channel  with  his  convoy  and 
make  for  France.  In  crossing,  I  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  English.  These  experts  in  treason 
gave  me  the  choice  of  being  shot  on  the  spot  or 
of  selling  them,  for  the  million  I  had  with  me, 
which  they  agreed  to  leave  in  my  hands,  the 
secret  of  the  channel  where  the  fleet  was  hiding. 
I  was  young  .  .  .  the  temptation  was  too  great 
Half  an  hour  later  the  Thetis  was  sunk,  the  convoy 
taken,  and  M.  de  Champcey  seriously  wounded. 
A  year  passed — a  year  without  sleep.  ...  I  was 
going  mad.  ...  I  determined  to  make  the 
cursed  English  pay  for  the  remorse  I  suffered. 
I  went  to  Guadeloupe  ;  I  changed  my  name ;  I 
devoted  the  larger  part  of  the  money  I  had  re- 
ceived to  the  purchase  of  an  armed  brig,  and 
I  fell  upon  the  English.  For  fifteen  years  I 
washed  in  their  blood  and  my  own  the  stain 
that  in  an  hour  of  weakness  I  had  brought  on 
my  country's  flag.  Though  three  parts  of  my 
fortune  have  been  acquired  in  honourable  com- 
bats, its  origin  was,  nevertheless,  the  price  of  my 
treachery. 

Returning  to  France  in  my  old  age,  I  ascer- 
tained the  position  of  the  Champcey  d'Hauterives, 
and  found  that  they  were  happy  and  wealthy.  I 
kept  my  own  counsel.  I  ask  my  children  to  for- 

218 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

give  me.  While  I  lived  I  had  not  the  courage  to 
blush  before  them.  My  death  will  reveal  this 
secret  to  them.  They  must  use  it  as  their  con- 
sciences may  direct.  For  myself  I  have  only  one 
prayer  to  address  to  them.  Soon  or  late  there 
will  be  a  final  war  between  France  and  her  neigh- 
bour. We  hate  one  another  too  much  ;  there's 
nothing  else  to  be  done ;  either  we  must  devour 
them  or  they  must  devour  us.  If  this  war  should 
be  declared  during  the  life  of  my  children  or  grand- 
children, I  desire  that  they  give  to  the  state  a  cor- 
vette fully  armed  and  completely  equipped,  on 
one  condition,  that  it  shall  be  called  the  Savage, 
and  be  commanded  by  a  Breton.  At  each  broad- 
side she  shall  send  on  to  the  Carthaginian  shore 
my  bones  will  tremble  with  joy  in  my  grave. 

RICHARD  SAVAGE,  called  LAROQUE. 

The  memories  that  this  terrible  confession 
awakened  convinced  me  that  it  was  correct. 
Twenty  times  I  had  heard  my  father  relate  with 
pride  and  indignation  this  incident  in  my  ances- 
tor's career.  But  in  the  family  we  believed  that 
Richard  Savage — I  remember  the  name  quite  well 
— had  been  the  victim,  and  not  the  contriver  of 
the  treason  or  mischance  which  had  betrayed  the 
commandant  of  the  Thetis.  Now  I  understand 

219 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  peculiarities  I  had  often  noticed  in  the  old 
sailor's  character,  and  especially  his  thoughtful  and 
timid  bearing  towards  me.  My  father  had  always 
told  me  that  I  was  the  living  portrait  of  my 
grandfather,  the  Marquis  Jacques,  and  perhaps 
some  dim  perception  of  this  resemblance  had  pen- 
etrated to  the  old  man's  troubled  brain. 

This  revelation  threw  me  into  a  terrible  per- 
plexity. I  felt  but  little  resentment  against  the 
unhappy  man  who  had  redeemed  a  moment  of 
weakness  by  a  long  life  of  repentance,  and  by  a 
passion  of  desperation  and  hatred  which  was  not 
without  greatness.  Nor  could  I,  without  admira- 
tion, breathe  the  wild  blast  which  animated  the 
lines  written  by  this  guilty  but  heroic  hand.  Still, 
what  was  I  to  do  with  this  terrible  secret  ?  My 
first  thought  was  that  it  removed  all  obstacles  be- 
tween Marguerite  and  me  ;  that  henceforth  the  for- 
tune that  had  kept  us  apart  would  be  almost  an 
obligatory  bond,  for  I  was  the  only  person  in  the 
world  who  could  regularize  her  title  to  it  by  shar- 
ing it  with  her.  But  in  truth  this  secret  did  not 
belong  to  me,  and  though  I  had  learned  it  by 
the  purest  of  accidents,  strict  honesty,  perhaps, 
demanded  that  I  should  leave  it  to  come  at  its 
own  time  into  the  hands  for  which  it  was  destined. 
But  while  I  waited  for  that  moment  the  irrepa- 

220 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

rable  would  be  accomplished.  Eternal  bonds  were 
to  be  forged.  The  tomb  was  to  close  over  my 
love,  my  hopes,  and  my  sorrowful  heart.  And 
should  I  allow  it  when  I  might  prevent  it  by  a 
single  word?  And  the  day  these  poor  women 
learned  the  truth,  and  blushed  with  shame  to  learn 
it,  perhaps  they  would  share  my  regret  and  de- 
spair. They  would  be  the  first  to  cry  : 

"  Ah  !  if  you  knew,  why  did  you  not  speak  ?  " 
No,  neither  to-day  nor  to-morrow,  nor  ever, 
shall  those  noble  women  blush  for  shame  if  I  can 
prevent  it.  My  happiness  shall  not  be  bought  at 
the  price  of  their  humiliation.  This  secret  is  mine 
alone.  The  old  man,  henceforth  speechless,  can- 
not betray  himself.  The  secret  does  not  exist; 
the  flames  have  destroyed  it.  I  pondered  it  well. 
I  know  what  I  have  dared  to  do.  It  was  a  will,  a 
sacred  document,  and  I  have  destroyed  it.  More- 
over, it  did  not  benefit  me  alone.  My  sister,  who 
is  intrusted  to  my  care,  might  have  found  a  for- 
tune there,  and,  without  consulting  her,  I  have 
plunged  her  back  into  poverty.  I  know  all  that, 
but  I  will  not  allow  two  pure  proud  souls  to  be 
crushed  and  dishonoured  by  the  burden  of  a  crime 
of  which  they  are  ignorant.  There  is  a  principle 
of  equity  at  stake  far  superior  to  mere  literal  jus- 
tice. If,  in  my  turn,  I  have  committed  a  crime,  I 

221 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

will  answer  for  it.    But  the  struggle  has  exhausted 
me.     I  can  do  no  more  now. 


October  4th, 

M.  Laube'pin,  after  all,  arrived  yesterday.  He 
came  to  see  me.  He  was  brusque,  preoccupied, 
and  seemed  ill-pleased.  He  spoke  briefly  of  the 
marriage. 

"A  very  satisfactory  business!"  he  said;  "in 
all  respects  an  excellent  combination,  where  na- 
ture and  society  both  receive  the  guarantees  they 
have  the  right  to  require  in  such  matters.  And 
so,  young  man,  good-night.  I  have  to  smooth 
the  delicate  ground  of  the  preliminary  agreements, 
that  the  hymeneal  car  of  this  interesting  union 
may  reach  its  goal  without  jolting." 

At  one  o'clock  this  afternoon  the  family  as- 
sembled in  the  drawing-room  with  all  the  prepa- 
rations and  formalities  observed  at  the  signing  of 
a  marriage  contract.  I  could  not  attend  this  cere- 
mony, and  I  blessed  my  broken  arm  for  sparing 
me  the  trial.  About  three  I  was  writing  to  little 
He*lene,  and  taking  care  to  assure  her  more 
strongly  than  ever  of  my  complete  devotion  to 
her,  when  M.  Laube'pin  and  Mile,  de  Porhoet 
came  into  my  room.  In  his  frequent  visits  to 
Laroque,  M.  Laube'pin  has  learnt  to  appreciate  my 

222 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

venerable  friend,  and  the  two  old  people  have 
formed  a  respectful  and  Platonic  attachment, 
which  Dr.  Desmarets  tries  in  vain  to  misrepresent. 
After  an  exchange  of  ceremonies,  of  interminable 
bows  and  courtesies,  they  took  the  chairs  I  offered 
them,  and  both  set  about  considering  me  with  an 
air  of  grave  beatitude. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it's  over?" 

"Yes,"  they  replied  in  chorus,  "it's  over." 

"  It  went  off  well  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mile,  de  Porhoet. 

"  Wonderfully  well,"  said  M.  Laub^pin.  After 
a  pause  he  added  :  "  B^vallan's  gone  to  the 
devil!" 

"  And  the  young   Hdlouin  after  him  ! "  con- 
tinued Mile,  de  Porhoet. 
I  exclaimed  in  surprise  : 
"  Good  God  !  what  has  happened  ? " 
"My  friend,"  said  M.  Laub£pin,  "the  contem- 
plated union  had  every  possible  advantage,  and  it 
would  have  without  doubt  insured  the  common 
happiness  of  both  the  parties  concerned,  if  mar- 
riage were  a  purely  commercial  partnership  ;  but 
it  is  nothing  of  the  sort.     As  my  assistance  had 
been  asked,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  bear  in  mind 
the  inclination  of  the  hearts  and  the  agreement  of 
the  character  just  as  much  as  the  relative  propor- 

223 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

tions  of  the  estates.  Now,  from  the  first,  I  had 
the  impression  that  the  contemplated  marriage 
had  one  drawback.  It  pleased  no  one,  neither  my 
excellent  friend  Mme.  Laroque,  nor  the  amiable 
fiancee,  nor  their  most  sensible  friends — no  one,  in 
fact,  except  perhaps  the  fiaiict,  about  whom  I 
trouble  myself  very  slightly.  It  is  true  (I  quote 
here  from  Mile,  de  Porhoet),  it  is  true,  I  say,  that 
the  fiance1  is  gentilhomme.  ..." 

"  A  gentleman,  if  you  please,"  Mile,  de  Porhoet 
interrupted  severely. 

"A  gentleman"  continued  M.  Laubepin,  ac- 
cepting the  correction,  "  but  it  is  a  kind  of  gentle- 
man I  don't  care  for." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mile,  de  Porhoet.  "  There  are 
curious  specimens  of  the  kind.  Dissipated  stable- 
men, such  as  those  whom  we  saw  last  century  de- 
serting their  English  stables  under  the  direction  of 
the  Due  de  Chartres  to  come  over  here  and  pre- 
pare the  Revolution." 

"  Oh,  if  they  had  only  prepared  the  Revolu- 
tion," said  M.  Laubepin,  sententiously,  "we  should 
forgive  them." 

"  A  million  apologies,  my  dear  sir  ;  but — speak 
for  yourself  !  Besides,  that  is  not  the  question  ; 
will  you  go  on  ? " 

"  So,"  continued  M.  Laube*pin,  "  seeing  that 
224 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

every  one  was  approaching  this  wedding  as  if  it 
were  a  funeral,  I  searched  for  some  honourable 
and  legal  means,  not  to  break  the  engagement 
with  M.  de  BSvallan,  but  to  get  him  to  withdraw 
voluntarily.  This  proceeding  was  the  more  justi- 
fiable, as  in  my  absence  M.  de  Be*vallan  had  prof- 
ited by  the  inexperience  of  my  excellent  friend, 
Mme.  Laroque,  and  the  weakness  of  my  colleague 
in  the  neighbouring  town,  to  make  the  most  exor- 
bitant demand  in  his  own  interests.  Without  de- 
parting from  the  wording  of  the  agreements,  I  suc- 
ceeded in  materially  altering  their  spirit.  But 
there  were  limits  which  honour  and  the  engage- 
ments already  entered  into  forbade  me  to  pass. 
And  the  contract  remained  favourable  enough 
to  be  accepted  with  confidence  by  any  high-minded 
man  who  had  a  sincere  affection  for  his  betrothed. 
Was  M.  de  Be"vallan  such  a  man  ?  We  had  to 
take  that  risk.  I  confess  that  I  was  not  free  from 
emotion  when  I  began  to  read  the  irrevocable 
document  before  an  imposing  audience  this  morn- 
ing." 

"As  for  me,"  interrupted  Mile,  de  Porhoet, 
"  I  hadn't  a  drop  of  blood  left  in  my  veins.  The 
first  part  of  the  contract  conceded  so  much  to  the 
enemy  that  I  thought  all  was  lost." 

"  No  doubt,  mademoiselle  ;  but,  as  we  augurs 
225 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

say  among  ourselves,  '  the  sting  is  in  the  tail,'  in 
cauda  venenum. 

"  It  was  comical,  my  friend,  to  see  the  faces 
of  M.  de  Bdvallan  and  my  confrere  from  Rennes, 
who  assisted  him,  when  I  suddenly  unmasked 
my  batteries.  At  first  they  looked  at  each  other 
in  silence ;  then  they  whispered  together ;  at 
last  they  rose,  and,  coming  to  the  table  where 
1  sat,  asked  me  in  a  low  voice  for  an  explana- 
tion. 

" '  Speak  up,  gentlemen,  if  you  please,'  I  said 
to  them.  '  We  must  have  no  mysteries  here. 
What  have  you  to  say  ? ' 

"  The  company  began  to  prick  up  their  ears. 
Without  raising  his  voice,  M.  de  Bevallan  sug- 
gested to  me  that  the  contract  showed  mistrust. 

"  '  Mistrust,  sir  ! '  I  replied,  in  my  most  impres- 
sive tone.  '  What  do  you  intend  to  convey  by 
that  ?  Do  you  make  that  strange  imputation 
against  Mme.  Laroque,  or  against  me,  or  against 
my  confrere  here  present  ?' 

"  '  S-s-sh  !  Silence  !  No  wrangling  ! '  said  the 
Rennes  notary  discreetly ;  '  But  listen  :  it  was 
agreed  in  the  first  place  that  the  legal  system 
of  dotation  should  not  be  insisted  on.' 

"  '  The  legal  system  ?  And  where  do  you  find 
that  mentioned  ? ' 

226 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

" '  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  you  know  that  you  have 
practically  reconstituted  it  by  a  subterfuge.' 

"  '  Subterfuge,  monsieur  ?  Allow  me,  as  your 
senior,  to  advise  you  to  withdraw  that  word  from 
your  vocabulary.' 

"  '  But,  after  all/  murmured  M.  de  Bevallan, 
'  I'm  tied  hand  and  foot,  and  treated  like  a 
school-boy.' 

"  '  Indeed,  sir  !  What,  in  your  opinion,  are  we 
here  for  at  this  moment — a  contract  or  a  will  ? 
You  forget  that  Mme.  Laroque  is  living ;  that 
her  father  is  living,  and  that  it  is  a  question  of 
marriage,  not  of  inheritance — at  least,  not  yet. 
.  .  .  Really,  you  must  have  a  little  patience ;  you 
must  wait  a  little.' 

"  At  these  words  Mile.  Marguerite  rose. 

"  '  That  is  enough/  she  said. — '  M.  Laubepin, 
throw  that  contract  into  the  fire.  Mother,  let 
this  gentleman's  presents  be  returned.' 

"  Then  she  rose  and  left  us  like  an  outraged 
queen.  Mme.  Laroque  followed  her,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  threw  the  contract  into  the  fireplace. 

" '  Sir/  said  M.  de  BeVallan  in  a  threatening 
tone,  'there's  some  trickery  in  this,  and  I  will 
find  it  out.' 

"  '  Sir/  I  replied,  '  allow  me  to  explain  it  to 
you.  A  young  lady,  who,  with  a  just  pride, 

227 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

values  herself  very  highly,  feared  that  your  offer 
might  have  been  influenced  by  her  wealth ;  she 
wished  to  be  certain ;  she  has  no  longer  any 
doubts.  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  good- 
day!' 

"Thereupon,  my  friend,  I  went  after  the 
ladies,  and — upon  my  honour  they  embraced  me. 

"A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  M.  de  Be"vallan 
left  the  chiteau  with  my  colleague  from  Rennes. 
His  departure  and  disgrace  have  naturally  loos- 
ened the  servants'  tongues,  and  very  soon  his 
imprudent  intrigue  with  Mile.  He'louin  was  re- 
vealed. The  young  lady,  already  suspected  on 
other  grounds  for  some  time  past,  has  asked  to  be 
released  from  her  duties,  and  the  request  has  been 
granted.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  our  ladies  will 
secure  her  future. 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  what  do  you  say  to 
all  this  ?  Are  you  worse  ?  You're  as  pale  as 
death  ! " 

This  unexpected  news  had  aroused  so  many 
emotions — pleasant  and  painful — that  I  felt  my- 
self on  the  point  of  losing  consciousness. 

M.  Laube"pin,  who  has  to  leave  at  daybreak 
to-morrow,  came  back  this  evening  to  wish  me 
farewell.  After  some  embarrassed  remarks  from 
us  both,  he  said  : 

228 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  boy,  I'll  not  cross- 
examine  you  on  what  is  going  on  here ;  but  if 
you  should  require  a  confidant  and  a  counsellor, 
I  ask  you  to  give  me  the  preference." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  could  not  confide  in  a 
heart  more  sympathetic  or  more  friendly.  I  gave 
the  worthy  old  gentleman  the  particulars  of  my 
relations  with  Mile.  Marguerite.  I  even  read 
some  pages  of  this  journal  to  him  to  show  him 
more  exactly  the  state  of  affairs,  and  also  the  state 
of  my  heart.  I  hid  nothing  from  him  save  M. 
Laroque's  secret. 

When  I  had  finished,  M.  Laub£pin,  who  had 
suddenly  become  very  thoughtful,  began  : 

"  It  is  useless  to  conceal  from  you,  my  friend, 
that  when  I  sent  you  here  I  intended  you  to 
marry  Mile.  Laroque.  At  first  everything  went 
as  I  wished.  Your  hearts,  which  I  believe  are 
worthy  of  one  another,  could  not  associate  with- 
out sympathizing,  but  this  strange  event,  of  which 
the  tower  of  Elven  was  the  romantic  scene,  en- 
tirely disconcerts  me,  I  must  confess.  Allow  me 
to  tell  you,  my  young  friend,  that  to  jump  out 
of  window  at  the  risk  of  breaking  your  neck 
was  in  itself  a  more  than  sufficient  proof  of  your 
disinterestedness.  It  was  quite  superfluous  to 
add  to  this  honourable  and  considerate  proceeding 

229 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

a  solemn  oath  never  to  marry  this  poor  girl  ex- 
cept in  contingencies  we  cannot  possibly  expect 
to  see  realized,  I  pride  myself  on  being  a  man 
of  resource — but  I  fully  recognise  that  I  cannot 
give  you  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  or  take 
them  away  from  Mile.  Laroque." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  to  do,  sir.  I  have  more 
confidence  in  you  than  in  myself,  for  I  see  that 
misfortune,  which  is  always  exposed  to  suspicion, 
has  made  me  excessively  susceptible  on  questions 
of  honour.  Speak.  Do  you  counsel  me  to  for- 
get the  imprudent  but  still  solemn  oath  which 
alone  at  this  moment  separates  me  from  the  happi- 
ness you  had  imagined  for  your  adopted  son  ?  " 

M.  Laube*pin  rose ;  his  thick  eyebrows  drawn 
down  over  his  eyes,  he  strode  about  the  room  for 
some  minutes,  then,  stopping  in  front  of  me  and 
seizing  my  hand,  he  said  : 

"  Young  man,  it  is  true  that  I  love  you  like 
my  own  child  ;  but,  even  at  the  cost  of  breaking 
your  heart  and  my  own,  I  will  not  be  false  to 
my  principles.  It  is  better  in  matters  of  honour 
to  do  too  much  than  too  little,  and  as  regards 
oaths,  all  those  that  are  not  extorted  at  the  point 
of  the  knife  or  the  mouth  of  a  pistol,  should 
either  not  be  taken  or  should  be  kept  That  is 
my  opinion." 

230 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  It  is  mine  too.  I  will  leave  with  you  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  No,  Maxime,  stay  here  a  little  longer.  I  do 
not  believe  in  miracles,  but  I  believe  in  God,  who 
seldom  allows  us  to  be  ruined  by  our  virtues. 
Give  Providence  more  time.  I  know  that  I  am 
asking  a  very  courageous  effort  from  you,  but  I 
claim  it  formally  from  your  friendship.  If  within 
a  month  you  do  not  hear  from  me — well — then 
you  can  leave." 

He  embraced  me  and  left  me  to  my  quiet 
conscience  and  my  desolate  heart. 

October  I2tk. 

It  is  now  two  days  since  I  have  been  able  to 
leave  my  retirement  and  appear  at  the  chateau. 
I  had  not  seen  Mile.  Marguerite  since  we  sepa- 
rated at  the  tower  of  Elven.  She  was  alone  in 
the  salon  when  I  entered.  Recognising  me,  she 
made — involuntarily — an  effort  to  rise.  Then  she 
sat  motionless,  and  a  flood  of  burning  crimson 
dyed  her  face.  It  was  infectious,  for  I  felt  that  I 
was  blushing  to  the  forehead. 

"  How  are  you,  M.  Odiot  ? "  she  said,  holding 
out  her  hand,  and  she  spoke  these  simple  words  so 
gently,  so  humbly — alas  !  so  tenderly  too — that  I 
longed  to  throw  myself  on  my  knees  before  her. 

231 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

But  I  had  to  answer  in  a  tone  of  icy  polite- 
ness. She  looked  sadly  at  me,  lowered  her  great 
eyes  with  an  air  of  resignation,  and  went  on  with 
her  work. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  her  mother 
called  to  her  to  come  to  her  grandfather,  whose 
condition  had  become  most  alarming.  For  some 
days  now  he  had  lost  voice  and  movement ;  the 
paralysis  was  almost  total.  The  last  gleams  of 
mental  life  were  extinguished ;  only  physical  sen- 
sibility and  the  capacity  for  suffering  remained. 
The  end  was  not  far  off,  but  in  this  energetic 
heart  life  was  too  deeply  rooted  to  be  relin- 
quished without  an  obstinate  struggle.  The  doc- 
tor had  foretold  that  his  agony  would  last  a  long 
time.  Still,  at  the  first  appearance  of  danger, 
Mme.  Laroque  and  her  daughter  had  tended  him 
with  the  passionate  self-sacrifice  and  utter  devo- 
tion which  are  the  special  virtue  and  glory  of 
their  sex.  The  day  before  yesterday  they  broke 
down  exhausted.  M.  Desmarets  and  I  offered  to 
take  their  places  by  M.  Laroque  to-night,  and 
they  agreed  to  have  a  few  hours'  rest.  The  doc- 
tor, who  was  very  much  fatigued,  soon  told  me 
that  he  was  going  to  throw  himself  on  the  bed  in 
the  next  room. 

44 1  am  no  use  here,"  he  said ;  "  the  thing  is 
232 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

over.  You  see  the  poor  old  fellow  doesn't  suffer 
any  more.  That  lethargic  state  is  not  painfuL 
The  awakening  will  be  death.  So  we  can  be 
quiet.  Call  me  if  you  see  any  change,  but  I  think 
it  won't  come  till  to-morrow.  I'm  dying  for  a 
sleep." 

He  gave  a  great  yawn  and  went  out.  His 
language  and  his  conduct  before  the  dying  man 
had  shocked  me.  He  is  an  excellent  man ;  but 
to  render  to  death  the  respect  that  is  due  to  it, 
one  must  not  see  only  the  brute  matter  it  dis- 
solves, but  believe  in  the  immortal  essence  it 
releases. 

Left  alone  in  the  chamber  of  death,  I  sat  near 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  the  curtains  had  been 
withdrawn,  and  I  tried  to  read  by  a  lamp  that 
stood  on  a  little  table  near  me.  The  book  slipped 
from  my  hands.  I  could  think  only  of  the  strange 
combination  of  events  which,  after  so  many  years, 
gave  this  guilty  old  man  the  grandson  of  his  vic- 
tim as  witness  and  guardian  of  his  last  sleep. 
Then,  in  the  tranquility  of  that  hour  and  place, 
I  recalled,  in  spite  of  myself,  the  scenes  of 
tumult  and  bloody  violence  which  had  filled  the 
life  that  was  now  ebbing  away.  I  looked  for 
traces  of  it  on  the  face  of  the  dying  old  man  and 
on  the  large  features  defined  in  the  shadow  with 

233  12— Vol.  9 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  pale  distinctness  of  a  plaster  mask.  I  saw 
only  the  solemnity  and  premature  peace  of  the 
tomb.  At  intervals  I  went  to  the  bedside  to  make 
sure  that  the  weakened  breast  still  heaved  with 
vital  breath.  Towards  the  middle  of  the  night  an 
irresistible  torpor  seized  me,  and  I  slept,  leaning 
my  forehead  on  my  hand.  Suddenly  I  was  awak- 
ened by  a  strange  and  sinister  sound.  I  looked 
up,  and  a  shudder  ran  through  the  marrow  of  my 
bones.  The  old  man  was  half-sitting  up  in  bed, 
staring  at  me  with  an  intent,  astonished  look, 
and  an  expression  of  life  and  intelligence  that 
I  had  not  seen  in  him  before.  When  our  eyes 
met  he  started,  stretched  out  his  arms,  and 
said,  in  a  beseeching  voice,  whose  strange  un- 
known quality  almost  stopped  the  beating  of 
my  heart : 

"  Marquis,  forgive  me  ! " 

In  vain  I  tried  to  rise,  to  speak.  I  sat  petri- 
fied in  my  chair. 

After  a  silence,  during  which  the  dying  man's 
eyes  were  still  fixed  on  mine  beseechingly,  he 
repeated  : 

"  Marquis,  deign  to  forgive  me." 

At  last  I  summoned  up  strength  to  go  to  him. 
As  I  approached  he  drew  back  fearfully,  as  if 
shrinking  from  a  dreadful  contact.  I  raised  my 

234 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

hand,  and  lowering  it  gently  before  his  staring 
and  terror-stricken  eyes : 

"  Rest  in  peace,"  I  said  ;  "  I  forgive  you." 

Before  I  had  done  speaking,  his  withered  face 
lighted  up  with  a  flash  of  joy  and  youth.  Two 
tears  burst  from  his  dry  and  sunken  orbits.  He 
stretched  a  hand  to  me,  then  suddenly  the  hand 
stiffened  in  a  threatening  gesture,  and  I  saw  his 
eyes  roll  between  their  dilated  lids,  as  if  a  ball  had 
gone  through  his  heart. 

"Oh,  the  English  !"  he  whispered,  and  imme- 
diately fell  back  on  the  pillow  like  a  log.  He 
was  dead.  I  called  quickly,  and  the  others  came. 
Soon  he  was  surrounded  by  pious  mourners,  weep- 
ing and  praying  for  him.  I  retired,  my  soul 
deeply  moved  by  this  extraordinary  scene,  which 
I  had  resolved  should  ever  remain  a  secret  between 
myself  and  the  dead  man. 

This  sad  event  brought  me  cares  and  duties 
which  I  needed  to  justify  me  in  my  own  eyes 
for  remaining  in  the  house.  I  cannot  fathom 
M.  Laube'pin's  motives  for  advising  me  to  delay 
my  departure.  What  did  he  hope  from  it  ?  To 
me  he  seems  to  have  yielded  to  a  vague  presenti- 
ment and  childish  weakness,  to  which  a  man  of 
his  stamp  should  never  have  given  way,  and  to 
which  I  also  was  wrong  to  submit.  Why  did  he 

235 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

not  see  that  besides  bringing  additional  suffering 
on  me,  he  put  me  in  a  position  that  is  neither 
manly  nor  dignified  ?  What  am  I  to  do  here  now  ? 
Would  they  not  have  good  reason  to  reproach  me 
with  trifling  with  sacred  feelings  ?  My  first  inter- 
view with  Mile.  Marguerite  had  shown  me  how 
hard  and  how  unbearable  was  the  trial  to  which  I 
had  been  condemned.  The  death  of  M.  Laroque 
would  make  our  relations  easier,  and  give  my 

presence  a  sort  of  propriety. 

» 

October  26th,  Rennes. 

All  is  over !  God,  how  strong  that  tie  was ! 
How  it  held  my  heart,  and  how  it  has  torn  it  as  it 
broke  !  Yesterday  evening  about  nine,  as  I  leaned 
on  my  open  window,  I  was  surprised  to  see  a  faint 
light  coming  towards  my  house  through  the  dark 
alleys  of  the  park,  and  from  a  direction  which  the 
servants  at  the  chateau  do  not  frequent.  A  mo- 
ment afterward  there  was  a  knock  at  my  door  arid 
Mile,  de  Porhoet  came  in  breathless. 

"  Cousin,"  she  said,  "  I  have  business  with 
you." 

I  looked  straight  at  her. 

"A  misfortune?"  I  said. 

"  No,  it  is  not  precisely  that.  Besides,  you 
shall  judge  for  yourself.  My  dear  child,  you  have 

236 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

passed  two  or  three  evenings  this  week  at  the  chd- 
teau.  Have  you  noticed  nothing  unusual,  nothing 
peculiar,  in  the  attitude  of  the  ladies  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Have  you  not  even  noticed  an  unusual  se- 
renity in  their  appearance  ? " 

"  Perhaps  I  have.  Allowing  for  the  melan- 
choly due  to  their  recent  sorrow,  they  seemed 
calmer  and  happier  than  before." 

"  No  doubt.  Other  things  would  have  struck 
you  if,  like  me,  you  had  lived  in  daily  intimacy 
with  them  for  fifteen  years.  Thus,  I  have  ob- 
served signs  of  some  secret  understanding  and 
mysterious  agreement  between  them.  Moreover, 
their  habits  have  been  largely  altered.  Mme. 
Laroque  has  given  up  her  brastro,  her  sentry-box, 
and  all  her  little  Creole  fancies.  She  rises  at  mar- 
vellous hours,  and  at  daybreak  instals  herself  with 
Marguerite  at  the  work-table.  They  are  both 
taken  with  a  sudden  passion  for  embroidery,  and 
have  ascertained  how  much  a  woman  can  earn  at 
that  work  in  a  day.  In  short,  there  is  a  riddle  to 
which  I  cannot  find  the  answer.  But  it  has  been 
told  me,  and  though  I  may  be  intruding  on  your 
secrets,  I  thought  it  right  to  inform  you  at  once." 

I  assured  Mile.  Porhoet  of  my  absolute  confi- 
dence in  her,  and  she  continued  : 

237 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  Mme.  Aubry  came  to  see  me  this  evening 
secretly.  She  began  by  throwing  her  wretched 
arms  round  my  neck,  which  displeased  me  very 
much.  Then,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  thou- 
sand jeremiads  about  herself — which  I  will  spare 
you — she  begged  me  to  stop  her  relations  on  the 
brink  of  ruin.  This  is  what  she  has  heard, 
through  listening  at  doors,  according  to  her  pretty 
habit :  The  ladies  are  trying  to  get  permission  to 
transfer  all  their  property  to  a  community  at 
Rennes,  so  as  to  do  away  with  the  difference  of 
fortune  which  separates  you  and  Marguerite.  As 
they  can't  make  you  rich,  they  will  make  them- 
selves poor.  I  thought  it  impossible  to  let  you 
remain  ignorant  of  this  determination,  which  is 
equally  worthy  of  those  generous  souls  and  of 
those  Quixotic  heads.  You  will  forgive  my  add- 
ing that  it  is  your  duty  to  put  an  end  to  this  de- 
sign at  any  cost.  I  need  not  point  out  the  regrets 
it  will  infallibly  bring  to  our  friends,  nor  the  ter- 
rible responsibility  it  will  throw  on  you.  That 
you  will  see  at  a  glance.  If,  my  friend,  you  can 
from  this  moment  accept  the  hand  of  Marguerite, 
everything  will  end  in  the  best  way  possible.  But 
in  that  respect  you  have  tied  yourself  by  an  en- 
gagement which  is  not  the  less  binding  because  it 
was  made  imprudently  and  blindly.  There  is  then 

238 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

only  one  thing  for  you  to  do — to  leave  this  coun- 
try and  resolutely  extinguish  all  the  hopes  that 
your  presence  here  must  inevitably  encourage. 
When  you  are  no  longer  here  I  shall  have  less 
difficulty  in  bringing  these  two  children  to 
reason." 

"  Very  well.  I  am  ready.  I  will  go  this  very 
night." 

"Good!"  she  said.  "When  I  give  you  this 
advice  I  obey  a  very  rigorous  law  of  honour. 
You  have  made  the  last  moments  of  my  long 
solitude  pleasant,  and  you  have  given  me  back 
the  illusion  of  the  sweet  attachments  of  life, 
which  I  had  lost  for  so  many  years.  In  send- 
ing you  away  I  make  my  last  sacrifice ;  it  is 
immense." 

She  rose  and  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  with- 
out speaking. 

"At  my  age  we  do  not  embrace  young  peo- 
ple," she  continued,  smiling  sadly;  "we  bless 
them.  Adieu,  dear  child,  and  thank  you.  May 
God  keep  you  ! " 

I  kissed  her  trembling  hands,  and  she  left  me 
hastily. 

I  hurriedly  prepared  for  my  departure,  and 
then  wrote  a  few  lines  to  Mme.  Laroque.  I 
begged  her  to  renounce  a  decision  the  effect  of 

239 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

which  she  could  not  foresee,  and  which,  for  my 
part,  I  was  determined  to  have  no  share  in.  I 
gave  her  my  word — which  she  knew  she  could 
rely  on — that  I  would  never  accept  my  happiness 
at  the  cost  of  her  ruin.  And  I  finished — for  the 
sake  of  dissuading  her  from  her  fantastic  project 
— by  speaking  vaguely  of  a  future  which  might 
bring  me  fortune. 

At  midnight,  when  everything  was  silent,  I 
said  farewell,  a  bitter  farewell,  to  the  old  tower 
where  I  had  suffered — and  loved — so  much.  I 
slipped  into  the  chateau  by  a  secret  door  of 
which  I  had  the  key.  Furtively,  like  a  criminal, 
I  passed  along  the  empty  and  resounding  gal- 
leries, guiding  myself  as  I  best  could  in  the  dark. 
At  last  I  reached  the  salon  where  I  had  first  seen 
her.  She  and  her  mother  had  not  long  left  it, 
and  their  recent  presence  was  revealed  by  a  sweet 
and  pleasant  perfume  which  transported  me.  I 
searched,  and  I  touched  the  basket  where  a  few 
moments  before  she  had  replaced  her  embroidery. 
Alas,  my  poor  heart ! 

I  fell  on  my  knees  before  the  seat  she  gen- 
erally occupies,  my  forehead  against  the  marble. 
I  wept.  I  sobbed  like  a  child.  God,  how  I 
loved  her ! 

The  last  hours  of  the  night  I  spent  in  reaching 
240 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

the  little  town  secretly,  and  thence    I  drove  to 
Rennes  this  morning. 

To-morrow  evening  I  shall  be  in  Paris.  O 
poverty,  solitude,  and  despair,  which  I  had  left 
there,  I  shall  find  you  again  !  Last  dream  of 
youth — dream  of  heaven,  farewell ! 

PARIS. 

The  next  day,  in  the  morning,  as  I  went  to 
the  railway  station,  a  post-chaise  stood  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  hotel,  and  I  saw  old  Alain  get 
out.  His  face  brightened  as  he  saw  me. 

"  Oh,  sir,  what  good  luck  !  You've  not 
gone  !  Here  is  a  letter  for  you." 

I  recognised  M.  Laube"pin's  writing.  He  said 
that  Mile,  de  Porhoet  was  seriously  ill  and  was  ask- 
ing for  me.  I  only  allowed  time  to  change  the 
horses,  and  threw  myself  into  the  chaise,  after 
forcing  Alain  to  get  in  with  me.  I  questioned 
him  eagerly,  and  made  him  repeat  his  news,  which 
seemed  incredible. 

The  evening  before,  Mile,  de  Porhoet  had 
received  an  official  despatch  through  M.  Laube*- 
pin,  announcing  her  succession  to  the  entire  Span- 
ish property. 

"  And  it  seems,"  said  Alain,  "  that  she  owes  it 
to  you,  sir,  for  finding  some  old  papers  in  the 

241 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

pigeon-house  that  have  proved  the  old  lady's  title. 
I  don't  know  how  much  truth  there  is  in  this,  but 
if  it  is  so,  what  a  pity  she  has  those  ideas  about 
the  cathedral  and  won't  give  them  up,  for  she's 
more  bent  on  it  than  ever.  When  she  first  got 
the  news  she  fell  flat  on  the  floor,  and  we  thought 
she  was  dead.  But  an  hour  after  she  began 
talking  about  her  cathedral,  the  choir,  and  the 
nave,  the  north  aisle  and  the  south,  the  chap- 
ter, and  the  canons.  To  calm  her  we  had  to 
fetch  an  architect  and  masons,  and  put  the 
plans  of  her  blessed  building  on  her  bed.  At 
last,  after  three  hours  of  that  kind  of  talk,  she 
quieted  down  a  bit  and  dozed.  When  she  awoke 
she  asked  for  you,  sir — M.  le  Marquis "  (Alain 
bowed,  closing  his  eyes) — "  and  I  had  to  run 
after  you.  It  seems  she  wants  to  consult  you 
about  the  rood-loft." 

This  strange  event  took  me  entirely  by  sur- 
prise. Nevertheless,  my  memory,  aided  by  the 
confused  details  given  me  by  Alain,  enabled  me  to 
find  an  explanation,  which  more  precise  informa- 
tion completely  confirmed.  As  I  have  before 
said,  the  affair  of  the  Spanish  inheritance  of  the 
Porhoets  had  gone  through  two  phases.  There 
had  first  been  a  long  lawsuit  between  Mile,  de 
Porhoet  and  one  of  the  great  families  of  Cas- 

242 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

tile,  which  my  old  friend  had  finally  lost.  Then 
there  had  been  a  new  suit  between  the  Spanish 
heirs  and  the  Crown,  the  latter  claiming  on  the 
grounds  of  intestacy. 

Shortly  after  this,  while  pursuing  my  re- 
searches in  the  Porhoet  archives,  I  had,  about 
two  months  before  leaving  the  chateau,  laid  hands 
upon  a  curious  document,  which  I  will  here  tran- 
scribe : 

"  Don  Philip,  by  the  Grace  of  God,  King  of 
Castile,  Leon,  Aragon,  the  two  Sicilies,  Jerusa- 
lem, Navarre,  Grenada,  Toledo,  Valencia,  Gali- 
cia,  Majorca,  Seville,  Sardinia,  Cordova,  Cadiz, 
Murcia,  Jaen,  of  the  Algarves,  of  Algeciras, 
Gibraltar,  the  Canary  Islands,  the  West  and 
East  Indies,  the  islands  and  continents  of  the 
ocean,  the  Archduchy  of  Austria ;  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy, Brabant,  and  Milan  ;  Count  of  Hapsburg, 
Flanders,  the  Tyrol,  and  Barcelona ;  Lord  of  Bis- 
cay and  Molina,  etc. 

"To  thee,  Herve\Jean  Jocelyn,  Lord  of  Por- 
hoet-Gae'l,  Count  of  Torre  Nuevas,  etc.,  who  hast 
followed  me  throughout  my  dominions,  and  served 
me  with  exemplary  fidelity,  I  promise,  by  special 
favour,  that  in  case  of  the  extinction  of  thy  direct 
and  legitimate  progeny,  the  possessions  of  thy 

243 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

house  shall  return,  even  to  the  detriment  of  my 
Crown,  to  the  direct  and  legitimate  descendants 
of  the  French  branch  of  the  Porhoet-Gaels,  as 
long  as  any  such  shall  exist. 

"  And  I  make  this  covenant  for  myself  and 
for  my  successors  on  my  royal  faith  and  word. 

"Given  at  the  Escorial,  April  10,  1716. 

"Yo  EL  REY." 

Together  with  this  document,  which  was 
merely  a  translator's  copy,  I  found  the  original 
text,  bearing  the  arms  of  Spain.  The  impor- 
tance of  this  document  had  not  escaped  me,  but 
I  had  feared  to  exaggerate  it.  I  greatly  doubted 
whether  the  validity  of  a  title  of  such  ancient 
date,  and  prior  to  so  many  momentous  events, 
would  be  recognised  by  the  Spanish  Government. 
I  even  doubted  whether  it  would  have  the  power 
to  give  effect  to  it,  even  if  it  had  the  will.  I 
had  therefore  decided  to  say  nothing  to  Mile,  de 
Porhoet  about  a  discovery,  the  consequences  of 
which  seemed  to  me  most  problematic,  and  I  had 
contented  myself  with  sending  the  document  to 
M.  Laube*pin.  As  I  had  heard  nothing  more  of 
it,  I  had  soon  forgotten  it  in  the  midst  of  the  per- 
sonal cares  with  which  I  was  overwhelmed  at  tr^e 
time.  However,  contrary  to  my  unjust  suspi- 

244 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

cions,  the  Spanish  Government  had  not  hesitated 
to  carry  out  Philip  V's  covenant,  and  at  the  very 
moment  when  a  supreme  decree  had  handed 
over  the  vast  possessions  of  the  Porhoets  to  the 
Crown,  it  had  nobly  restored  them  to  the  legiti- 
mate heir. 

About  nine  that  evening  I  stopped  at  the 
humble  house  where  this  royal  fortune  had  arrived 
so  tardily.  The  little  servant  opened  the  door. 
She  was  crying. 

From  the  staircase  above  came  the  grave  voice 
of  M.  Laubepin. 

"  It  is  he,"  said  the  voice. 

I  went  up  the  stairs  quickly.  The  old  man 
grasped  my  hand  warmly,  and  took  me  into  Mile, 
de  Porhoet's  room.  The  doctor  and  the  cur6 
stood  silent  in  the  shadow  of  the  window.  Mme. 
Laroque  knelt  at  the  bedside  ;  her  daughter  was 
arranging  the  pillow  where  the  pale  face  of  my 
old  friend  rested.  When  the  sick  woman  saw  me 
a  faint  smile  flickered  across  her  face.  Painfully 
she  moved  one  of  her  arms.  I  took  her  hand  ;  I 
fell  on  my  knees ;  I  could  not  keep  back  my 
tears. 

"  My  child/'  she  said,   "  my  dear  child  !  " 

Then  she  looked  intently  at  M.  Laube"pin. 
The  old  notary  took  from  the  bed  a  piece  of  pa- 

245 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

per,  and,  as  if  he  were  continuing  to  read  after  an 
interruption,  he  went  on  : 


"  For  these  reasons,"  he  read,  "  I  appoint  by 
this  holograph  will  Maxime-Jacques-Marie  Odiot, 
Marquis  de  Champcey  d'Hauterive,  noble  by  heart 
as  by  descent,  sole  and  universal  legatee  of  all  my 
property  in  Spain  as  well  as  in  France,  without 
reserve  or  condition.  Such  is  my  will. 

"JOCELYNDE   JEANNE, 
"COMTESSE    DE    PORHOET-GAEL." 

In  my  astonishment  I  had  risen  and  was  about 
to  speak,  when  Mile,  de  Porhoet,  gently  retaining 
my  hand,  placed  it  in  Marguerite's.  At  this  sud- 
den contact  the  dear  creature  trembled.  She  bent 
her  young  forehead  on  the  mournful  pillow,  and, 
blushing,  whispered  something  in  the  dying  wom- 
an's ear.  I  could  not  speak.  I  fell  on  my  knees, 
and  prayed  to  God.  Some  minutes  passed  in 
solemn  silence,  when  Marguerite  suddenly  with- 
drew her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  alarm.  The  doc- 
tor came  up  hastily.  I  rose.  Mile,  de  Porhoet's 
head  had  fallen  hack  ;  with  a  fixed  and  radiant 
glance  she  looked  towards  heaven  ;  her  lips  half- 
opened,  and  as  if  she  were  speaking  in  a  dream, 
she  whispered  : 

246 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

"  God !  the  good  God !  I  see  Him  there  .  .  . 
up  there.  .  .  .  Yes  .  .  .  the  choir  .  .  .  the  golden 
lamps  .  .  .  the  windows  .  .  .  the  sun  every- 
where. .  .  .  Two  angels  kneeling  before  the 
altar  ...  in  white  robes  .  .  .  their  wings 
move  .  .  .  God,  they  are  alive  ! " 

This  cry  died  on  her  lips,  which  remained 
smiling.  She  closed  her  eyes  as  if  she  were  going 
to  sleep,  and  suddenly  an  air  of  immortal  youth 
fell  on  her  face,  making  it  almost  unrecognisable 
to  us. 

Such  a  death,  after  such  a  life,  had  lessons 
with  which  I  desired  to  fill  my  soul.  I  begged  to 
be  left  alone  with  the  priest  in  the  room.  This 
pious  vigil  will  not,  I  believe,  be  unavailing. 
From  that  face,  irradiated  with  a  glorious  peace, 
where  a  supernatural  light  seemed  to  glow,  more 
than  one  forgotten  or  questioned  truth  came  home 
to  me  with  irresistible  force.  Noble  and  holy 
friend,  well  I  knew  that  the  virtue  of  sacrifice  was 
yours !  Now  I  see  that  you  have  entered  into 
your  reward. 

About  two  hours  after  midnight,  yielding  to 
fatigue,  I  longed  to  breathe  the  fresh  air  for  a  mo- 
ment. I  went  down  the  dark  staircase  and  into 
the  garden,  avoiding  the  salon  on  the  ground 
floor,  where  I  had  seen  a  light.  The  night  was 

247 


The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man 

profoundly  dark.  As  I  approached  the  arbour  at 
the  end  of  the  little  inclosure,  I  heard  a  faint 
sound,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  shadowy  form 
detached  itself  from  the  foliage.  I  felt  a  sudden 
rapture ;  my  heart  leaped,  and  I  saw  the  heavens 
fill  with  stars. 

"  Marguerite  ! "  I  cried,  holding  out  my  arms. 
I  heard  a  little  cry,  then  my  name  murmured 
faintly,  then  silence  .  .  .  and  I  felt  her  lips  on 
mine.  I  thought  that  my  soul  was  escaping 
from  me. 

I  have  given  He*lene  half  my  fortune.  Mar- 
guerite is  my  wife.  I  close  these  pages  forever. 
I  have  nothing  more  to  intrust  to  them.  What 
has  been  said  of  nations  may  be  said  of  men : 
"  Happy  are  those  who  have  no  history." 


248 


THE   PORTRAITS 
OF  OCTAVE   FEUILLET 


13— Vol.  9 


THE    PORTRAITS 
OF    OCTAVE    FEUILLET 


IN  spite  of  the  fash- 
ionable popularity 
achieved  by  Octave 
Feuillet  as  early  as 
the  year  1855,  a  pop- 
ularity which  never 
waned  to  his  last 
hour,  it  seems  that 
his  life,  which  we 
should  have  pictured 
excessively  brilliant 

After  a  drawing  by  the  engraver  Monciau.         and      DUbllC       WaS     in 

reality  quiet  and  retired.  The  author  of  M.  de 
Camors  and  of  the  Roman  (Tun  Jcune  Homme 
Paiivre  was,  as  his  portraits  attest,  melancholy 
of  temperament  and  contemplative  of  mind,  a 
man  who  was  happiest  in  his  own  study,  who 
preferred  the  distant  echoes  of  his  literary  tri- 
umphs in  his  home,  to  noisy  manifestations  there- 
of in  the  world  of  social  pleasure. 

251 


OCTAVE    FEUILLET 

In  1850. 


The   Portraits  of  Octave   Feuillet 


Feuillet  was  the  official  novelist  of  the  Second 
Empire,  the  pet  writer  of  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes.  He  was  received  at  Court  among  the 
distinguished  guests  who  had  the  cntrc'e  at  Com- 
piegne  and  Fontainebleau.  His  plays  and  proverbes 
were  acted  in  the  Imperial  theatres,  at  fashionable 
watering-places,  and  on  the  miniature  stages  of 

marionettes.  The  Em- 
press treated  him  with 
marked  distinction.  It 
is  difficult  to  under- 
stand why  an  author  so 
honoured  and  so  much 
sought  after  should 
have  left  so  few  por- 
traits —  canvases,  me- 
dallions, water-colours, 
or  engravings.  Feuillet 
evidently  was  not  lav- 
ish of  his  time  in  his  sittings  to  artists,  for  neither 
Dubufe,  nor  Carolus-Duran,  nor  Winterhalter  re- 
produced his  features — a  fact  we  find  it  almost 
hard  to  believe  of  a  man  who  enjoyed  the  popu- 
larity of  Feuillet.  But  we  must  accept  the  fact. 

Mme.  Octave  Feuillet,  to  whom  I  went  for 
final  confirmation  of  this  supposed  dearth  of 
artistic  documents  relating  to  her  deceased  hus- 

252 


'     OCTVVE  rnrn.LET 
In    iSyg. 

After  a  sketch  made  in  Geneva. 


The   Portraits  of  Octave   Feuillet 


OCTAVE    FEUILLET. 

After  a  photograph  taken  in  1880. 


band,  showed  me  every- 
thing she  had  as  memen- 
toes of  the  delicate  psy- 
chologist to  whose  suc- 
cess she  so  largely  con- 
tributed by  her  feminine 
diplomacy,  her  social  ob- 
servations, and  her  sub- 
tle and  very  cultivated 
mind. 

"  Alas  !  "  she  said, 
"  I  do  not  know  why  I 
am  not  richer  in  pictures  of  my  clear  lost  one,  for 
he  had  endless  opportunities  of  being  painted, 
but  he  was  always  too'  nervous  and  too  busy 

to  undertake  the  sit- 
tings proposed  by  va- 
rious artists.  This  is 
why  I  can  only  show 
you  a  little  portrait 
painted  by  Bonvin  just 
before  1850,  which  rep- 
resents him  with  a 
Musset-like  face,  and 
agrees  pretty  closely 

OCTAVE    FEUILLET.  With      &     d™Wmg     OI       tllC 

The  last  photograph  taken  in  1889.         Same  period    by  the    Cn- 


The   Portraits  of  Octave   Feuillet 

graver    Monciau,    which    could    easily    be    repro- 
duced." 

"  Beyond  these  souvenirs  of  Octave  Feuillet  as 
a  young  man,"    continued    his   widow,    "  I    have 


OCTAVE    FEUILLET. 

Sketch  by  Dantan,  about  1878. 


nothing  but  a  drawing  by  Dantan,  made  at  the 
time  of  the  great  success  of  the  Sphinx  at  the 
Comedie  Francaise,  that  is  to  say,  about  ten  years 
before  his  death,  and  a  large  canvas  by  Ilirch,  a 
full-length,  painted  after  1880.  But  isn't  it  too 
dark  for  reproduction?" 

To  these  portraits  of  the  author  of  Julia  de 
254 


The   Portraits  of  Octave  Feuillet 

Trtcoeur  we  may  add  a  number  of  photographs, 
all  of  them  taken  after  1860.  First,  the  large  full- 
length  portrait  published  by  Goupil  about  1869  in 
the  Galerie  Contemporaine.  In  spite  of  the  de- 
fects inherent  in  all  photographs,  this  is  the  most 
like  him  of  all  his  portraits ;  it  is  reproduced  as 
the  frontispiece  of  this  volume.  We  have  given 
several  others,  among  them  one  from  Monciau's 
drawing,  which  shows  us  an  Octave  Feuillet  of 
thirty-five,  who  is  nevertheless  somewhat  morose- 
looking,  and  various  presentments  of  the  quinqua- 
genarian Academician,  with  the  white  hair  and  gray 
beard  of  a  man  still  in  his  prime,  which  offer  a 
much  nobler  and  more  attractive  semblance  of  the 
writer  who  has  been  called  "The  family  Musset." 

After  the  death  of  the  famous  novelist  and 
playwright,  the  sculptor  Crauck  executed  a  fine 
bust  of  him  with  the  aid  of  instructions  given  him 
by  one  of  the  author's  sons,  Richard  Feuillet. 
Another  bust,  of  little  interest  and  a  poor  likeness, 
is  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  of  St.  Lo,  where  Feuil- 
let was  born,  and  where  he  often  came  to  rest  at 
his  property  during  the  summer. 

Octave  Feuillet's  iconological  record  certainly 
does  not  arrest  attention  by  any  curious,  startling, 
or  hitherto  unpublished  elements.  We  have  no 
childish  or  youthful  portraits,  nothing  but  the  cold 

255 


The   Portraits  of  Octave   Feuillet 

countenance  of  the  man  who  had  already  "  arrived  "  ; 
no  whimsical  artistic  sketch,  not  even  any  satirical 
caricature,  to  compromise,  enliven,  or  give  a  Bo- 
hemian touch  to  the  dignified  attitude  and  severe 
correctness  of  the  writer  of  the  Rcvuc  dcs  Deux 
blondes.  It  is,  we  think,  to  be  regretted.  Octave 
Feuillet  remains  an  over  official-figure  for  us,  bear- 
ing too  obviously  the  stamp  of  the  photographer's 
solemn  poses,  and  sacramental  "  Quite  still,  please." 

OCTAVE   UZANNE. 


THE 


256 


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